


Bad Things

by duosdeathscythe



Category: Walking Dead
Genre: ? Daryl, AU yet still in the ZA, Amy thinks that Lori is a bitch, Animal Death, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood drinking of humans and animals, Bloodlust, Bloodplay, Boxtrucks, But not crossover, Improbable things, Language, Lori is kind of a bitch, Lori is only a bitch because she is uncertain, M/M, Racial slurs, Racism, Rick is clueless about vampires, Rickyl, Series Rewrite, Shane doesn't go crazy, Slowburn Rickyl, Supportive Shane, Timeline What Timeline, True Blood fusion, Vampire Rick, Violence, and stuff, but - Freeform, male x male, more tags to come, mysterious Daryl, season one, sun burn, you will see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 49,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duosdeathscythe/pseuds/duosdeathscythe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick Grimes doesn't know how or why he woke up as a vampire, only that he has to find his wife and son in a world that is vastly different from the one he remembers. Without a maker he must learn what he is and learn to accept it, even if his family does not. But who is this Daryl Dixon that smells oh-so delicious? More importantly...what is he and why does he drive Rick's senses wild?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Like You Never Had Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Heeey, guuuys...yeah, I know, this isn't and update for 'Deeper Into You'...or 'Savin' Me'. *cough* I am terrible, I know. But in my New Years fic, 'Animals', I mentioned to you guys that I had a string of fics planned out and even gave some teasers. This is one of those fics, the True Blood fusion. I am trying to write this to where you people who have not seen True Blood will know what is going on...and for the fusion to make sense. If you have any questions please do not hesitate to ask me and I shall answer. :D
> 
> A little insight: The Great Revelation is what it was called when vampires "came out of the coffin", so to speak. Vamper is, obviously, slang for vampire. Fang banger is someone who has sex with a vampire. V, or V Juice, is a drug. It's just vampire blood and it heightens the senses, increases strength, makes an intense sexual experience, and causes hallucinations in small doses. In larger doses it causes several different effects, such as healing someone who has injuries, even if they are dangerously close to death, and metaphysically or spiritually bond the drinker with the vampire in question. If taken in a large dose when there is no injury on the human, they will have an extremely increased libido. It is also illegal to deal or do. Also vampires cry blood.  
> I think that is everything but if not, let me know! Again, if you are lost or just wanna know something, let me know! Some things may be explained later in the fic but I am also a little dingheaded and may have just forgotten to explain something. You may also browse around the interwebs: Google or even the True Blood wiki. 
> 
> Also I has no beta. ;-;
> 
> And Rick's mentality when he wakes up...I tried to make it a little frantic, more worried about what was going on around him rather than what was going on inside of him. I just hope it's worthy. ;-;
> 
> EDIT: Fic title is from the song, 'Bad Things', by: Jace Everett. It's a catchy song, the theme for True Blood. Why was it changed from the previous one? Because I was never truly satisfied with the title, though I love the song. 
> 
> Here is the opening theme to True Blood and the song I hijacked: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wet5OM7RR8Q  
> Chapter title is from "Change in the House of Flies", by: Deftones.

"I'm telling you, man. There's nothing like sex with a vamper."

 

Rick laughs even though he has already had this conversation dozens of times with his best friend.

 

"Who was it this time? Anyone I know?" he pushes forward anyway, dipping a couple of fries into the glob of ketchup on the basket in between them.

 

King County does not have a big community so when vampires began making themselves known all over the world back in 2006, it was only natural that one or two popped up in town. Vampires that had probably lived there since before Rick's grandparents were born, who don't look a day over thirty and whom he had never crossed paths with. Of course their presence had received varying degrees of embrace and retaliation, some folks up and moving with the hope of finding a vampire-free place to live and others going so far as to sleep with as many as they can. Such as Shane. Lori had been one of the people to want to move and never look back.

 

"Carla Farmer."

 

The name breaks Rick from his reverie and he nearly chokes, "The woman with the cats?"

 

Shane laughs at him, "Yeah, man. Was with her just last night."

 

"So that's why you had bags under your eyes this morning. You let her..."

 

"...let her what?"

 

"...bite you?"

 

Rick has to admit that he has been curious. As far as he knows, Shane's never let one suck on him in that aspect but he's sure as hell heard stories. Sex with a vampire is supposedly very adventurous, moreso when blood is involved. Having arrested many people high on vampire blood, or V as it's called on the streets, Rick can only imagine what the stuff does to the human mind in the heat of passion. Not that Rick's ever had any or wants to for that matter.

 

His stomach is way to weak to enjoy drinking someone else's blood, alive or otherwise.

 

"No, man. Love me some fang banging but I don't get into any of that biting shit. It messes with your head too much." Shane answers through the food in his mouth.

 

After that, silence stretches between them. They watch cars drive by on the highway, their taillights leaving ribbons of color in the darkness before them. There is a lone street lamp on the opposite end of the Piggly Wiggly parking lot that really fails to illuminate anything outside of its immediate vicinity, a reminder of why Rick really doesn't care for working the night shift. But alas, it's a bullet that every officer on the force has to take, especially since the Great Revelation. After all, nobody really wants to be the ones to respond to a case involving a vampire but Rick is glad that at least he has Shane covering his neck.

 

"So..." Shane says after a while and a quick drink of his soda, "...how are things with you and Lori?"

 

Rick doesn't mean to falter, to let the question provoke any kind of negative reaction from him, but it's so sudden and point on to what's bothering him that he just can't control himself.

 

"We...didn't exactly have a good day." he confesses, rubbing a hand over his mouth and averting his eyes.

 

"What was it this time, brother?"

 

Rick takes a deep breath, "What _wasn't_ it about, this time? It's like lately she's just been looking for an excuse to go at it. She started up this morning in front of Carl. I can't even tell you what set her off this time. Is that bad?"

 

Shane shakes his head and Rick doesn't even give him a chance to otherwise respond before continuing.

 

"Everything I say makes her impatient, like she doesn't want to hear it at all. She's pissed at me all the time and I don't even know why."

 

"Look man, that's just shit that couples go through. Don't let her get to you---"

 

"She doesn't trust me."

 

Shane closes his mouth and Rick can tell that the words are a complete shock to him.

 

"Shit. That's...she doesn't trust you? What, she thinks you got something going on with Diane---"

 

"She doesn't trust me to keep her and Carl safe. And I think that hurts more than accusing me of infidelity. What's worse is that she said all of this in front of him. I tried to raise Carl to not fear vampires but respect them nonetheless and know that they can be dangerous. Lori undermines everything that I've got to say about it and I just...I don't want Carl living in fear, growing up in some kind of bubble. Vampires existed long before the Great Revelation and since then, nothing's changed except our knowledge of them."

 

It's a mouthful but it's something that Rick needs to get off of his chest. He loves Lori dearly but her close-mindedness and overall racism over the subject is hard to ignore. After one of their own neighbors came out and revealed that they were a vampire, Lori had not only wanted to move but she wanted to drop King County entirely. Pull Carl out of school, Rick from his job---after he'd just gotten a promotion, no less---and find someplace "safe". It was ridiculous and Rick had told her as such.

 

"I just don't understand how she can condemn an entire group of people. Not all of them are cruel, evil killers and I'm sure some of them didn't even have a choice in their turning. What if you were dying and the only way to keep you from it was to be turned? Wouldn't it be worth your _life_?"

 

Shane considers his partner's words, a thoughtful expression on his face.

 

The radio suddenly crackles to life, "All available units: high speed pursuit in progress, vampires involved. Linden County units request local assistance."

 

§§§§§§§§§§

 

He's suffocating. Holy shit, he's suffocating. Panic hits Rick like a truck when he tries to move and can't. Everything is dark, he can't see and something is in his eyes. He struggles harder.

 

Opening his mouth to scream, he is beyond shocked when he tastes dirt. Was he buried? Did someone think he was dead? Did they bury him alive? The thought is terrifying and he fights harder, squirming and feeling dirt in places he really didn't want it to be.

 

What happened? Why is he here? Buried? The fear and claustrophobia weighs heavier on Rick the more he wakes up and he feels tears burn behind his eyelids. This has to be a dream!

 

Just like that the memory hits him and it's like the icy claws of dread grip at his heart from the inside. Dinner with Shane, the call over the radio, the high-speed chase, the wreck and shootout---the bullet that ripped through his side, fired faster than the eye could see from a vampire. But what happened after that? He remembers the ambulance and the hospital, Lori and Carl crying, Shane talking to him, and pain. The trickle of blood in his mouth: hot, metallic, _addicting_ \---

 

No. No, no, _no_. He can't think about it, he has to get out of this prison. Rick struggles anew, pushing and shifting, rolling to loosen the earth that traps him. But it's moving, giving, and he fights harder to free himself.

 

Finally Rick's hand breaks the surface of the ground and he instinctively grasps around, feeling for something, anything. He feels nothing but he is able to move easier, wiggling around and lifting his head out of his would-be grave. Inhaling deeply, exhaling, it doesn't feel right and Rick coughs, trying to rid his body of whatever is hindering his breathing. It's comparable to a bag sealed around his head and he reaches up to make sure that that's not the case. Nothing but dirt and he shakes to get the clumps out of his curly hair.

 

It's then that he is able to take in his surroundings and discern the room he is in: a cellar, from the looks of it. A cellar that is not at all lit up and possessing no windows. Yet he can see everything clearly. But how? What is going on?

 

After a short break, Rick heaves himself the rest of the way out of the ground, swaying on his feet and not at all feeling the chill typically associated with being underground. For Christ's sake, he is in a flimsy hospital gown, he should feel _something_. Falling to his knees, he scrabbles to lift the thing up to see the bullet wound that he knows is there. Or... _not_ there, as it would be. When the old, bloody bandage is pulled away Rick is amazed to find the wound completely healed, long-dried blood painting the skin of his side.

 

His skin that is way too pale.

 

"What...?"

 

He hardly recognizes his voice: scratchy and soft, just above a whisper. His throat is dry, parched, and he is so damned _thirsty_. Trying to speak again, the word comes out no better than the first and Rick rubs at his throat, hacking. It's then that he feels it, or _doesn't_ feel it, actually. He has no pulse.

 

"No!"

 

Propelled by sheer will alone, he stumbles on shaky legs towards the rickety wooden stairs that lead up to a door. They groan under each bare, dirty foot that transfers his weight, worrisome by appearance yet strong in build. Rick drops to all fours about halfway up, climbing the rest of the way like his son used to when he was a toddler. His son...Carl, Lori. Where are they, were they when he was---

 

Rick finally reaches for the metal knob of the door, rusty from exposure to the moist underground. He is full of apprehension, not entirely sure what will greet him on the other side. The door opens slowly, squeaking on it's hinges in the otherwise quiet house. Whose house is he in, anyway? Him and Lori aren't exactly close to anyone that owns a cellar as far as he knows.

 

Another dark room opens up before him and Rick takes a pensive look around before crawling onto short carpet. He doesn't recognize his surroundings at all, the only part completely visible being the family and dining rooms. Once decorated elegantly with trinkets and paintings, everything is now in shambles. Someone carelessly ransacked the house, either burglarizing it or taking out some anger, Rick doesn't know. But they left the front door wide open, the darkness from outside seeming to creep in around him as if it is alive.

 

"Hello?" he attempts to call out, voice having still not recovered.

 

There is still dirt in his mouth.

 

"Is anyone here?" he calls again, approaching the door cautiously as if something will jump out and grab him.

 

This is too weird, everything is too quiet and dark, and Rick feels more fear at the idea of being completely alone more than he does thinking that someone---or something---is watching him. He closes the front door from his position on the floor, locking it and twisting around to rest his back against it. He is painfully aware of his lack of clothes when he pulls the hospital gown tighter around himself, more to cover his vulnerability than his bare chest. At least whoever buried him---why did they bury him?---had done so with his boxers on him. Or, at least, _someone's_ boxers.

 

They're definitely not his.

 

"Is anyone here?!" Rick tries to scream again, this time pounding on the wall to elicit more noise.

 

The exertion tires him out more than it should and leaves him with an ache in his hand but he doesn't miss it, the sudden and single thump that resonates from a room upstairs. Upstairs---there is a narrow stairwell that leads to another floor and someone made a sound back to him. Maybe they are trapped like he was. Rick begins his ascent with determination, desperate to find out what is going on. Maybe whoever is up here can tell him why he was buried in the cellar of a strange house instead of in a bed at the hospital.

 

"My name is Rick! Rick Grimes! I'm a police officer!" he cries out when he reaches the door at the top.

 

There is another thump right on the other side of it and this time the handle jiggles ever so slightly.

 

"Can you hear me? Hello?" he knocks and is startled when there is another heavy thump followed by a groan.

 

Whoever it is, they sound hurt.

 

"I'm coming in! It's just me, I won't hurt you!" he tells them, twisting the knob and opening the door.

 

Rick isn't expecting a body to be leaning against the door or said body to fall with it's removal, sending the person rolling down the stairs before he can reach out to catch them. As if he has the strength to catch them anyway; he'd probably have tumbled with the person if he had. The thought that the woman can be dead or seriously injured; neck broken or worse; from the fall terrifies Rick and he bites at his lip in concern. He spares a glance into the room before looking back down at the crumpled body laying awkwardly against where he had been sitting just moments ago. But she moves, a choked gasp escaping her lips, and Rick is immediately on the move, scooting down the steps in haste.

 

"Ma'am! Are you alright? I am so sorry---"

 

His concern is cut short when he makes to roll the woman over, her appearance hitting him like a brutal slap to the face. She is very much dead with half of her left eye socket caved in and her nose missing but she is moving, weakly regarding him with the same dumb interest that one animal would another. Rick yelps, startled, and attempts to scurry back up the stairs away from it---her. She lays there on her side, lips pulled tightly off of clacking teeth, squirming to get up and begins moving again. Dead...moving...there is a corpse, not a vampire but a _corpse_ , just a few feet from him.

 

Her teeth. There aren't fangs but then again Rick is aware that vampires can retract them. But does vampirism cause this? No, no it can't. Vampires have been around for so long, something like this would have happened before now, surely. Jesus Christ he is _thirsty_.

 

Finally reaching the second floor, Rick slams the door closed behind him, blocking out the horrible sounds from the downstairs. What in God's name is going on? Is that thing the reason why the house is in shambles? Is that why it was shut in upstairs? Why didn't it just open the door?

 

So many questions rock Rick's mind but he is almost scared to know the answers. Braving to step from the door, he takes a few tentative steps forward. There are only two rooms up here, one a tiny makeshift bedroom and the other piled full of belongings. And the _smell_ , it's repulsive, as if someone just up and died up here---oh. Rick spares a glance to the door before approaching a lone window.

 

It's dark outside but he is still able to see as if it weren't and the sight that greets him sends a shiver down his spine. There are zero lights on whatsoever, the only little bit coming from the quarter moon in the sky. Cars and stray garbage litter the street below haphazardly as if everyone just disappeared. He can even tell that some of the otherwise manicured lawns are a bit overgrown. But on the bright side: he recognizes the houses around him. His own isn't too far away.

 

Spurred on by the need to find something, _anything_ , to put himself at ease---Lori, Carl---he rips away from the window with every intent of leaving to go home. But first he stops at the bed, removing a sheet from it's surface to wrap around his shoulders for some modesty. He'll return it later. He listens at the door before opening it, peeking through to the body still sprawled out on the floor below. He eases his way down quietly, leaning heavily against the bannister for support and giving it a wide berth as he passes.

 

It shifts again but otherwise leaves him alone. He searches for shoes in passing, settling on a pair of flip-flops before exiting the house. Everything is quiet, alarmingly so. Where is everyone? Surely people didn't really just disappear. He has to find Lori and Carl.

 

Rick repeats it like a mantra in his head, needing something to focus on other than the pit of dread, the wrongness, the _thirst_ that is boiling away at his insides. He walks to the sidewalk, still very weak. He just wants to get home and find out what is going on. Why are there no lights?

 

"Hello?" he calls out, singlehandedly his most repeated word of the day.

 

There is only silence and it's enough for Rick to pull the sheet on tighter on himself. This is the kind of shit you only see in horror movies and nightmares and it has him consciously pinching the fleshy juncture of his thumb and wrist to make sure that he is awake, that this is real. His eyes dart back and forth, desperate for any signs of life. There is none.

 

No sign of a human soul for the length of time it takes him to get home. His home; a shadow in the darkness, looming over him like a monster ready to devour him. One of the windows is shattered and the front door is standing wide open, much like the other house. A wrecked sob escapes his dry lips and he lunges forward, one foot in front of the other to carry himself to the entrance. There is a _bloody?_ hand print on the threshold leading inside. Panic sets in and he begins screaming.

 

"Lori! Carl!"

 

Silence greets him.

 

"Lori! Carl!"

 

The living room is empty, their belongings scattered along the floor.

 

"Carl!"

 

This isn't right. It's not right, it's not right, none of it is _right_.

 

"Lori!"

 

The ground level is completely void of life. Rick continues to scream for his wife and son even as he goes to his hands and knees to climb the stairs. God, what if he finds them up here, dead or worse? What if they are corpses reaching out for him like that woman in the other house? What if he doesn't even find them at all?

 

"Lori! Carl!"

 

He reaches the second level to find it in similar shape. Clothes, books, toys, broken _empty?_ picture frames lay scattered on the floor. There is no sign of his family and Rick feels the anguish of the situation boil over and swallow him whole. He begins screaming again, blubbering, names melting away into nothing but sounds of torment. He curls up on the floor, sobbing, hot tears making their way down his cheeks.

 

_Thump!_

 

A sound reverberates through the otherwise empty house and just like that Rick is at full attention.

 

"Lori! Carl!" he wails, bolting up with new found adrenaline.

 

Quivering legs take him back down the stairs, leaving the sheet behind, and he has to lean against the wall for support. Upon reaching the landing, though, he stops dead in his tracks. Having left the door open on his entry, a couple of those creatures have wandered inside, meandering about and bumping into things as if they know no better. This time, though, Rick actually recognizes them. One is Mr. Jenkins from next door and the other is...he has to wrack his brain for a moment...Mrs. Newton from a few houses down.

 

Both appear to be fresh into the throes of decomposition. Neither are Lori and Carl. It's too much for him and with an animalistic cry he shoves Mr. Jenkins into the wall, throwing him to the floor in a fit of rage. Mrs. Newton regards him blankly, not at all phased by the violence shown to her companion and Rick grabs onto her blouse, the fabric ripping easily, dragging her to the door and through it. Mr. Jenkins is quick to follow and Rick closes the door behind him to join them on the porch.

 

"Where are they?!" he demands, not sure if he is really expecting an answer or not.

 

Both cadavers acknowledge his outburst but neither respond like how Rick wants. He roars, tackling Mr. Jenkins back to the floor and straddles him, punching at his face without restraint. All of the pain, rage, anguish, and confusion is poured into the assault, tears flowing freely and thickly, hot against his cool face. Mr. Jenkins doesn't react to the beating except to squirm as his head is forced back and forth with the movement of Rick's fists, the skin eventually peeling away to bone underneath. Mrs. Newton shifts closer, attracted to the sounds---

 

And then a baseball bat is slammed against her head, knocking her prone before crushing her skull under repeated blows, the person on the other end of the weapon not stopping until she is completely immobile. Rick is shoved off of Mr. Jenkins before the deceased man is given the same treatment. Their brain matter paints his porch black in the darkness. He is quickly pulled to his feet by the stranger and it's only then that Rick realizes that there are more of those things. More, dozens more, have gathered on the streets since he disappeared into his home and now they are limping and shuffling right towards them.

 

" _Move_!" a deep, frantic voice commands and rough hands guide Rick back into his house, slamming the door closed again and locking it just as fast.

 

Within seconds the sound of feet on Rick's porch reach their ears and hands slapping are at the door, fingernails dragging across the wood as the dead fight for entry.

 

"Are you out of your damned mind?!" the stranger whispers harshly, shoving Rick gently, accusing.

 

He wants to return the gesture but that little burst of energy has him spent, instead stumbling back every bit as weak as a newborn.

 

So he retaliates with words, "They were leaving me alone, they---"

 

A flashlight is suddenly clicked on into his face and Rick hisses, wrenching back and covering his eyes. He's been in the darkness too long and the light in his eyes just hurts. Glaring at the guy from behind his pale arm, Rick hopes that he gets his displeasure across. What he isn't expecting is for the bat to whiz at him, missing by a hair thanks to his reflexes. The beam of light twists around the room with the action.

 

"What are you _doing_?!" Rick exclaims, voice cracking in surprise.

 

First this guy 'rescues' him from the corpses and then tries to cream him?

 

"Why are you here?! If you think for one second that I'm going to let you harm me or my boy---"

 

"What are you talking about?!" Rick interrupts him, hands raising in surrender---the noise from outside gets louder, more urgent---"I just woke up. I don't know what's going on, I'm looking for my wife and son!"

 

It's all said so quickly, in one breath that he is unsure if this guy even understands him. But the man, black and haggard now that Rick can see better, glowers at him, stopping himself from taking another swing and shaking like a leaf. He regards Rick, observes him, contemplates him. Rick doesn't know what he is looking for but he thinks he finds it. The man relaxes his shoulders.

 

"Do you know my wife and son? Where they are? Lori Grimes, Carl Crimes... _please_ \---"

 

"How long has it been since you've eaten?"

 

The question is so random, so sudden, that it renders Rick speechless.

 

"When was the last time you _ate_?!" the stranger growls, fists tightening around the bat.

 

The gesture startles Rick and he jumps, falling back into a table.

 

He holds a placating hand out, tripping over his words, "I don't know! I don't know! I got shot, I am a police officer---I got shot and the next thing I know I'm waking up fucking...fucking _buried_ in the _ground_ \---"

 

"Were you a vampire before you were shot?"

 

Rick isn't sure that he hears the question right.

 

"W-What? I'm not..."

 

He's not a vampire. Wasn't one. Why is this man asking him such a thing? Is it because he told him that he was buried? That he was shot?

 

"I'm not a vampire..."

 

Rick doesn't sound as convincing as he wants to be. He knows that he doesn't feel right, not since he unearthed himself, and he is just so goddamned _thirsty_. Thirsty...hungry? Is that what this man is talking about? Hungry for what---oh.

 

The stranger must sense his inner struggle, understand the expression he knows must be on his face. Next thing Rick knows the man is all but dragging him further into the house, further away from the hoard of dead pounding away at his front door. As if he knows exactly where he is going, the man forces Rick into the downstairs bathroom, stopping him in front of the vanity. Rick wants to comment on the manhandling but before he can he takes notice of his reflection. It's unreal, the version of himself staring back.

 

"What...?"

 

He reaches a hand out to stroke the glass. That man...it's him but it's not. His face is as pale as the rest of him, at least where it's not hidden by the thick smears of dirt. But the most striking part is the dark red rivulets of blood staining his cheeks where tears should be, following the path of his sunken cheeks from his bright blue eyes. He'd been crying blood.

 

Rick screams and punches the mirror.


	2. If You're Lost And Alone Or You're Sinking Like A Stone, Carry On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan introduces himself and explains a few things to Rick. Rick has his first real taste of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, so apparently had this chapter sitting around for...well, a while. After coming out of my rut I posted a new chapter to 'Savin' Me' and I just couldn't leave his baby high and dry. I've had a few people still comment, kudo, bookmark, and stuff and I really want to thank you guys, love you, give you things, and...stuff.   
> Thank you all for keeping me motivated and not giving up on me or my fics!  
> Random input of disclaimer: I own none of this. Barely own the plot.   
> Erm...if you guys who are unfamiliar with True Blood don't understand something, let me know and I shall elaborate. Or try to without giving plot away.  
> Mmmkay. I want to try to get some vampire!Rick art out. Mebbe some vampire!Rick and Daryl stuff. ;D We shall see.  
> Still not beta'd.  
> Also, in True Blood when Sookie first meets Bill, he is the first vampire that she has met. I am unsure as to how big Bon Temps was, population-wise, but it seemed like vampires were still kind of few and far in between in small towns. I am taking that into consideration with Rick's hometown. And as far as his knowledge of vampires go, I believe it was stated that the vampires didn't just go around telling people their secrets and weaknesses and such. I am sure in some cases a few humans came to find out but it was not common knowledge. That is also something that I am banking on with this fic. :x  
> Also...vampire fangs. Most series have their own, a few share likeliness. If it doesn't make sense, here is a video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OzF8x1KUXW0 (and for those of you who do not know and / or who may be wondering, this is Jessica Hamby as played by Deborah Ann Woll)  
> AND chapter title is from "Carry On" by, .fun.  
> Enjoy, darlings!

He said his name was Morgan. He said that he has a son named Duane. He said that he has no idea who Lori and Carl Grimes are or where they are. He said that he trusts Rick. He said that he would be right back.

  
  
But first Morgan had demanded to check Rick over, for what, the cop---ex cop---doesn't know. He'd removed the bandages completely to look at his healed gunshot wound under the beam of the flashlight, confirming his story. Morgan also checked the expanse of his chest. Whatever he found, or _didn't_ find, had settled his mind, though.

  
  
At least enough to help Rick out.

  
  
He doesn't know how long Morgan has been gone or where he went. The dead are still gathered on his front porch, the perfect distraction for the other man to escape through the back door with his bat and flashlight. Not long after he left, Rick retrieved his dirty sheet from where he left it upstairs to wrap around his thin shoulders like a shield against what is going on around him. All of this is still so hard to believe: his family missing, rotting corpses walking the earth, him being a vampire. Is that why his family is gone?

  
  
The thought is much less unsettling than if something happened to them. God forbid. Rick will give anything to have his wife and son's safety. Even the mystery of how he was turned, when, why; maybe this new-found power will help him find them. Protect them.

  
  
But Lori...will she rebuke him? Condemn him like she did so many others, good people, whom she had no real reason to distrust in the first place? The thought begins to eat away at him and with it bubbles up fear of the unknown. What will he do if Lori wants nothing to do with him, if she tries to distance herself and Carl from him? God, what if he finds them and they are no different than those things outside?

  
  
Rick is torn from his thoughts when his backdoor opens quickly and quietly, closing just as such with the delicacy of a person trying not to draw attention to themselves. The flashlight shines down the hallway and Rick knows it is Morgan before the other man pokes his head around the corner. He looks at him with sympathy in his dark eyes and Rick averts his gaze quickly, wiping at his eyes, yet again, on the already stained blanket. Morgan remains hidden behind the threshold just watching him, watching as Rick tries to glue himself back together. At least he is giving him that small decency...or maybe he is still just wary of him.

  
  
"Come on, I've got something for you." Morgan tells him in a hushed tone.

  
  
"I don't...I don't want to leave." Rick tells him, sounding pathetic even to his own ears.

  
  
"You've got to. If the walkers get through that door it won't be good for either of us. You attracted quite the crowd with your carrying on."

  
  
"Walkers?"

  
  
"Those things out there. The _other_ walking dead."

  
  
Oh. That makes sense.

  
  
"What are they? What happened, where did they come from?" Rick asks him solemnly, curling in tighter on himself.

  
  
"You really have no clue what's going on, do you?" Morgan counters, stepping completely into view.

  
  
Rick shakes his head.

  
  
Morgan nods, "Come on, then. Let's get somewhere safe and I can tell you what I know."

  
  
"But my home---"

  
  
"Rick, this ain't your home no more. It will still be here in the morning...or tomorrow night, if you will. We'll draw their attention elsewhere to get them away once we get somewhere safe. Now, let's go."

  
  
Rick doesn't fight it when Morgan pulls him to his feet, dragging him in the direction of the kitchen and back door.

  
  
"Where are we going? Where is safe?"

  
  
Morgan hushes him and Rick obeys. The darker man peers outside to make sure that the coast is clear before turning the flashlight off and ripping the door open. Rick is right behind him when he takes off more or less due to the others firm grip on his arm. Morgan stealthily drags him through a few back yards, showing no mercy to the lone thing--- _walker_ \---that gets in their way. Without so much as slowing down, Morgan cracks it across the skull with one hand on the bat, dropping it before it even has a chance to retaliate.

  
  
The two scale a short privacy fence and just like that they reach the destination that Morgan has in mind. The other man enters first, oh-so quietly, allowing Rick to close the door and lock it behind them. Morgan takes over from there, barricading it and making sure to cover up the window but not before sneaking a quick peek outside. Everything is dark, silent, and empty.

  
  
Morgan turns to him, "Okay, now, here's what's going to happen. You are hungry, I get that, you've not fed in a while. I can tell because you've got the bleeds."

  
  
Rick starts, unfamiliar with the term.

  
  
"You're bleeding. When a vampire goes without sleep or a feeding they get the bleeds. You lose enough blood...you die."

  
  
"So, what, I just need to feed?" Rick asks, fearing the action in itself.

  
  
The idea of drinking someone else's blood is disgusting.

  
  
"That's right. But you can't just go into a store and buy a bottle of Tru Blood, not anymore. Truth be said, I wouldn't trust the stuff if you did find any. Not anymore. Not from those factories in Louisiana."

  
  
Rick remembers; it all happened not long before he was shot. 2009 was a tragic year for vampires all across the world. If it wasn't bad enough that all of the Tru Blood factories were destroyed by terrorists, sending some vampires into a state of panic that caused them to attack humans for consumption, the re-release of the artificial blood from new locations in Louisiana had been a series of bad batches. Batches that had been proven, in fact, to contain and further spread the virus that came to be known as Hepatitis V. Commonly known as Hep V, it single-handedly wiped out a good portion of vampires and forced the Japanese creators of the beverage, the Yakonomo Corporation, to go completely belly up.

  
  
Rick doesn't know much about what happened, only what the news released. It was a big mess for both humans and vampires.

  
  
"So what do you recommend?" he inquires, fearing Morgan's answer.

  
  
Morgan steels himself, taking a deep breath, "I am going to let you drink from me," he holds up a hand to keep Rick's outburst at bay, "It won't be the first time I've helped a vampire out but if we do this then we are going to do it safely. You and I are both Hep V negative so there will be no spreading of the virus between us. We'll tie you down so you don't get overzealous and greedy."

  
  
" _Greedy_?" Rick scoffs incredulously, "I don't want your blood!"

  
  
"Yeah, well, you need it. And if you want to live, you will need to sustain yourself on blood for the rest of your life. I am doing you a favor, if you don't like it I can send you right back out there---"

  
  
"Why are you so worried about those things? They're harmless---"

  
  
" _Harmless_?!" Morgan interrupts, a panicked sort of laugh escaping his lips before he checks himself and speaks quieter, "They're not _harmless_. You _really_ have no idea, do you?"

  
  
Rick says nothing, instead waiting on him to elaborate.

  
  
"I don't know how it all started." Morgan begins, staring at the floor, "Really I'm not so sure anyone does. I think it had something to do with that Hep V outbreak, though. Too big of a shitstorm too close together to _not_ be connected. Those things out there, that you don't think are so dangerous? Two or three, maybe not. But you get a big group, hungry and sights set on something to eat...you best watch your ass. One bite, one scratch...I don't know about what might happen to a vampire but with a human it starts with a fever. Fever, hallucinations, weakness. Death. And then they come back as a walker."

  
  
"So if they're not hungry, do they just leave you alone?" Rick asks him, thinking of the few he's encountered so far.

  
  
"I wish. They've always got an appetite for flesh."

  
  
"Why don't they attack me?"

  
  
His words cause Morgan to look at him intensely as if not hearing him right.

  
  
"They don't---then what was all that over---"

  
  
"I attacked them. They were in my house and I just lost it. Came across another in the house that I woke up in. She...it fell down the stairs and pretty much just laid there." Rick explains, recalling what happened only a couple of hours ago.

  
  
Morgan contemplates his words before speaking, "You're the first vampire I've come across since the...well, since that kind of dead started rising. A good part of them were wiped out by Hep V. Maybe where you're dead, too, it makes you invisible to them?"

  
  
It actually makes sense.

  
  
"Is...is the entire world like this?" Rick asks after a while.

  
  
He doesn't want to believe it but even he knows that the Hep V epidemic was worldwide.

  
  
"Last I heard, yes." Morgan replies solemnly.  
  
Rick bows his head, letting the severity of the situation wash over him. It's hard to imagine anything on a global level---war, peace, death and destruction. Things that you'd see in movies or read about in books and now it's life. How life is. There is a good chance that he may never see his family and friends ever again.

  
  
"What am I going to do?" he whispers to himself, feeling the onslaught of tears---blood?---again.

  
  
Morgan is quick to answer with a firm hand on his cold shoulder, "What you're going to do is this: you are going to eat. Get a clear head and tomorrow night you will be in a better state of mind to make a decision. You got me?"

  
  
Rick doesn't trust himself to speak so he nods instead. Morgan pats him a little harder than intended and then reaches over to a couple of zipties laying on a nearby shelf. He holds them up for Rick to see, to know what is coming, and he nods again to give his silent consent. He trusts this man---at least, that is what he keeps telling himself when he snugly zipties his wrists into place behind his back.

  
  
"Like I said, it's just a precaution." Morgan reminds him, sensing his trepidation, "Could be worse. Could be silver."

  
  
"Silver?" Rick parrots, sitting on the cement floor to get more comfortable.

  
  
"Silver is one of your weaknesses. You really don't know much about vampires, do you?"

  
  
Well, it's not Rick's fault that he has no idea what is going on with himself and the world around him. His...what? He has to wrack his brain for a moment to remember the term. Creator?

  
  
"Whoever turned me, my creator---"

  
  
"Maker."

  
  
"...My Maker..." saying the word ignites a longing pit of fire in his chest, "...abandoned me. I guess. No note, instruction manual, nothing."

  
  
"I'm sorry to hear that. It's a tough bond to be missing but that explains why you woke up alone."

  
  
Rick wants to ask him more but before he can, Morgan is opening the door that leads further into the house and makes a gesture. A young boy steps out of the darkness, very much Morgan's son and very close to Carl's age. Duane, if Rick remembers correctly. Duane steps out next to his father, tight-lipped with a silver chain around his neck and a makeshift wooden stake held white-knuckled in both hands. Now Rick begins to feel nervous.

  
  
"Like I said...we're taking necessary precautions. You're not going to want to stop. If you become a threat, we will kill you. Alright?"

 

Rick agrees to the terms but then a concern surfaces in his mind.

  
  
"I don't..." it's kind of embarrassing, "...I don't have any fangs, how do I..."

  
  
He leaves the question open, hoping that Morgan can instruct him on what to do. He can't help but run his tongue over his teeth, confirming once again that the lengthened additions are missing. Morgan doesn't laugh at him but that look of pity is just as bad in Rick's eyes. The darker man says nothing as he removes a knife from his back pocket and slides the blade out to click in place, resting it lightly against the skin of his forearm. Taking a deep breath he quickly draws the knife across.

  
  
The tang of fresh blood hits his nostrils immediately like a sugar buzz or an adrenaline shot and his body reacts purely by instinct: fangs snap out from behind his lateral incisors. Duane jumps back in his peripheral vision, not expecting the action, and Morgan holds out his arm. Rick glances between father and son, still unsure, but the _smell_. It's surprisingly intoxicating, like smelling his favorite dish that he didn't know existed. And it's such a small amount too, seeping lazily from the cut.

  
  
The blood hits the curve of Morgan's arm and trails downward, prompting Rick to lurch forward so it won't drip and hit the floor. Duane starts, raising the stake only to be stopped by his father's hand. Morgan steps closer to Rick to give him what he wants and the ex-cop can't latch on fast enough, driven by pure animalistic instinct. Morgan gasps above him and Rick vaguely feels his other hand clamp down on his shoulder. He growls possessively, dragging his tongue over the cut and trying to slide it in deeper between the parted skin.

  
  
Morgan hisses in pain, gripping Rick's shoulder tighter. Rick pays him no mind, his whole world slowly zeroing in on the taste of the blood in his mouth. He can't help but moan, feeling his body light up with the sustenance gifted to it. It's heaven, sweeter than any dessert he's ever had and more of a turn on for his body than any lover ever had been. He ignores his body's unusual betrayal to embrace it, mind lost to the sensations that such a disgusting, morbid, fucking _delicious_ action ignites.

  
  
Rick growls and snarls when Morgan suddenly pulls away, clasping a hand to his surprisingly clean wound. Licked clean by Rick. But it's still bleeding and he whimpers, shifting closer in hopes of getting another taste. Morgan makes a sound as if correcting a dog and Duane steps up once again, ready to defend his dad against the threat that Rick poses. Morgan grabs the dish towel that had been sitting out of view with the zipties and replaces his hand with it.

  
  
" _Please_ , just a little more..." Rick begs shamelessly, eyes wild and pupils dilated.

  
  
He licks the blood from his teeth and lips.

  
  
"Sorry, Rick. I've got to cut you off there. I think you had enough but I've got to keep my strength, too. If I had more time I could've found you a dog or something to drain. That will have to hold you over until tomorrow night."

  
  
" _Please_ , Morgan---"

  
  
" _Rick_."

  
  
Morgan's voice is stern, no-nonsense; Rick growls again and tests his bonds, feeling the plastic dig into the skin of his wrists.

  
  
"Rick, calm down---"

  
  
"I _need_ it, give it to me!" he ex-cop snarls, trying to break free.

  
  
Morgan pushes Duane behind him, yanking the stake away and taking a menacing step closer to Rick. The rag drops to the floor, drawing Rick's attention to the deep red stain soaking it, just long enough for Morgan to press the tip of the stake against Rick's dirty chest. It's a rude awakening from his bloodlust, almost painful against his skin and near comparable to a bucket of ice cold water being poured on him. The high is chased away when he meets Morgan's eyes: the eyes of a kind man who will help a person in danger, of a father who will sooner kill that same person than allow them to harm his son. At this point the blood in his mouth is too much, too real, and he gags, spitting the residue out onto the floor.

  
  
Morgan takes a step back and just watches Rick cough.

  
  
"Thank you, son. We'll be inside in a minute."

  
  
Duane nods sharply, not tearing his gaze from Rick. Wordlessly, he disappears back into the next room, closing the door quietly behind him. Rick feels a hollow space in his chest as he watches the boy depart, reminded of Carl. Loss bubbles up within him for his wife and son. Before he knows it blood is trailing down his cheeks again from his eyes.

  
  
He is a monster. Even if he somehow manages to find Lori and Carl again, how will they react to finding him like this? Even if he is...alive?...will that make a difference to them? If it does, what if he loses control on them? He'd been full of resolve up until Morgan cut his arm and then he just lost it.

  
  
"I'm a monster." he sobs, curling in on himself as much as his bound position will allow.

  
  
This is the lowest that he has felt in his entire life. The world he knew, in every which way possible, is no more. Hell, he isn't human anymore. He doesn't even know much of anything about vampires: for all he knows, he is the last one.

  
  
His Maker may very well be dead, whoever they are.

  
  
Morgan slowly lowers himself to the floor beside him, leaning back against the wall beneath the shelf. He picks the rag up and clutches it tightly to his arm and Rick hates the way he can't help but lick his lips. He can still smell it and as much as he wants to be disgusted with it, he can't help but feel that stir again. Though this time it isn't nearly as demanding. He still forces himself to stare at the floor with a shuddering sigh.

  
  
"You're not a monster." Morgan tells him after a while, "You just don't have any guidance. You've got no Maker and the world you've been revived in isn't exactly ideal."

  
  
Rick huffs a humorless laugh, "It isn't exactly ideal for anyone."

  
  
Morgan shares it, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

  
  
"What am I going to do?"

  
  
He sounds like a broken record, pitiful to his own ears.

  
  
"You're going to get through this night. I don't know much about vampires but I can tell you what I do know. And then you are going to find your wife and son. It might not be tomorrow or even a week but you will find them and they're not going to care that you are what you are."

  
  
He's wrong. Rick knows he's wrong. He vividly remembers how Lori felt about vampires even before the Hep V outbreak. Doubt creeps back up into his mind and he sighs shakily. What if Lori wants nothing to do with him anymore?

 

"Stop dwelling. There's nothing you can do right now. You might have an hour or so left until sunrise and we've got to find you a safe place to sleep." Morgan tells him, standing again.

  
  
He grabs Rick under his bound arms and hauls him to his feet, guiding him inside and leaving the bloody rag where they'd been sitting. Rick is too embarrassed to ask for it, to lick and suck off what he can in a vain attempt to quench his craving. God, is it always going to be like this? will he ever have control? What if he never does?

  
  
Despite his irrational thinking he knows that deep down it's unlikely. He reminds himself that vampires have existed a long time before they 'came out of the coffin' and many of them had ample control. Though they most likely had their Makers. And access to Tru Blood. No, Rick can make it work, he has to if he ever hopes to be with Lori and Carl again.

  
  
"How do they..." Rick clears his throat, "...when do they..."

  
  
He doesn't know what he is trying to ask. Go down? In? Retract? Morgan arches a thick brow as he licks his teeth.

  
  
"Your fangs?"

  
  
"Yeah."

  
  
"Soon you should be able to control them a little better. Think of it as using a muscle that you've not moved in a while. But there will be times when you won't be able to control it. Like how when I cut myself, they came out on their own. When it's time to feed, when you get angry, or..." Morgan's eyes dart to the door that Duane disappeared from and he lowers his voice, "...aroused."

  
  
Morgan finally cuts his binds. He shares a nod with the other as he leads him further inside, through the dining room and to the living room where Duane sits on a mattress on the floor. The boy looks up as they enter, blatantly staring at Rick. But he's not angry, or disgusted, or scared---only curious. It's a huge relief to the ex-cop, a glimmer of hope.

  
  
"Duane, this is Rick. Rick, Duane."

  
  
"Hello." Rick greets, smiling.

  
  
Duane smiles back, "Hello."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMGWTFBBQ it copied and pasted without having to go through and re-format stuff. This pleases me.
> 
> Show me your love: comment, kudo, bookmark. It's like food.


	3. Us And Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick runs some errands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. I am sorry this is taking so long to...you know...DARYL, but it is coming. Three more chapters. Next one he finishes his business in King County, in five he makes his way to Atlanta and meets Da Group, and in six, I promise, there will be some Daryl.  
> I hope this isn't too boring for you guys, God knows I want Daryl to come in like now. I am halfway done writing chapter five, so updates will be fast and thus, Daryl will be fastish to get introduced.
> 
> As for other stuff (and things), I got a new motorcycle and have been having a blast on it. And Friday I have an appointment to get tested for carpal tunnel. 27 years old with that, it sucks. It especially sucks for writing and mousing. But...
> 
> ...three more chapters until Daryl! 
> 
> ;-; Sorry, just trying to get into the setting, I guess. Forgive me, I am tired as it is. I feel like I am just throwing a bunch of nonsense to you guys and running off to hide. I hope you guys enjoy, nonetheless.
> 
> Not beta'd and truth be told, I've barely gone over it myself to check for errors or inconsistencies. I made enough of a booboo having to correct a setting mistake: I forgot I was having it take place in King County and halfway through switched it to Cynthiana, KY. So I had to fix it. It is King County.
> 
> Also, been getting into the Supernatural fandom. I am as big of a Destiel fan as I am a Rickyl fan. So, naturally, been brainstorming fics for them too. May or may not take some of the fic ideas mentioned in my 'Animals' fic and apply it there.
> 
> ALSO, facts about blood storage and the gas lines and such were asked from a friend who works as a phlebotomist. Means he works with blood. Now I just hope he wasn't BSing me. :P
> 
> Chapter title is from the song "Us and Them", by: Pink Floyd.
> 
> EDIT: Had to fix some placement errors.

For the first time in Rick Grimes' life, he slept in a closet. No windows, no light, and no space whatsoever to get comfortable. It was more precaution than anything else, he's sure, and more than once he had to fight the urge to venture out. The sun is like a fleeting memory in his mind, beauty and warmth that he is loathe to think that he might never experience again. His sleep had been near restless, thoughts a whirlwind of pain and longing and the overall fear of what the future will hold.

 

At least when Morgan knocks on the door, signaling safety for Rick to emerge for the night, his fangs have gone down. Their absence does nothing to abate his renewed hunger, though the urge isn't as incessant. Still, he doesn't have the nerve to ask Morgan for his blood again, hoping that the other has, instead, come up with a better solution. Judging from the duffels that the other man and his son are packing up, though, a better solution seems like a good possibility. He stands off to the side, waiting for the plan to be revealed.

 

"I think I've got the blood issue figured out but before we leave, we're going to stop back by your place. You need clothes. Maybe even find some other things you may want to grab." Morgan reveals, tossing an empty bag his way.

 

Rick catches it effortlessly.

 

"Maybe I should go alone, since those things don't seem bothered by me."

 

Morgan and Duane look at one another, briefly, before the older man turns his attention back to him, "You sure?"

 

"Yeah. Just tell me where I can get the blood. I don't want to risk you or your boy unnecessarily."

 

It's easier to convince Morgan than Rick would have thought and he sees just how weary the darker skinned man is. How ready and willing he is to help even if he is on his last leg. He has already helped Rick more than he will ever be able to repay, held his hand through his first few moments of unlife and he's even given him shelter. He could have just as easily left him alone to fend for himself. Nevermind that he even let him drink his own blood.

 

Morgan lets out a long sigh, "The hospital. Their backup generators probably ran off of the gas lines and if my figuring is right, the lines only stopped working maybe a month ago. I'm thinking, if they had a unit for blood storage, if it's not been opened for God knows how long, it might still be good. I know that's not much to go on but it's the best I could come up with."

 

"Better than what I could've done. Definitely worth a shot. The police station actually ran off of it's own generator...that may be a good place to check out, too."

 

"That's right, you did say you were a cop. Think there'd be anything left to salvage?"

 

"There's a good chance. The place had it's own armory, under lock and key. I doubt anyone could have just busted in."

 

Morgan and Duane's faces light up at the meaning of those words.

 

"Let me run home and get some things. Then I'll go to the hospital and, tomorrow night the station. Sound good?"

 

"Sounds great."

 

"Good."

 

Rick smiles at them, "I'll be back."

 

He turns to leave but Morgan stops him, "Wait."

 

As Rick turns, a bat is held out to him, wood stained with God knows what.

 

"Just in case."

 

"Thank you."

 

"Just be careful out there."

 

With a simple nod, Rick makes his way to the back door that he entered from last night, Morgan following so that he may lock up behind him.

 

"Just knock when you get back." 

 

"Alright."

 

"Good luck out there. And remember: don't let any of them touch you or bleed on you. If for some reason you've got to kill any, a head shot is the only thing that will work."

 

The words follow Rick outside into the darkness and he is hyper aware of the door closing and being latched behind him. He is now alone, not a single living---or unliving---body in sight. Walking the same overgrown path as the previous night, he scales the fence with ease and passes by the lone walker that Morgan had beaten down. Not quite _dead_ dead, it is twitching and gurgling in the heap they left it in. It barely pays him any mind.

 

His house is exactly how they left it in last night. Rick doesn't know why he was worried it'd be any different. By all appearances, it was looted a long time ago. The idea of having to salvage what he can is heartbreaking but before he can dwell on it too much, he needs some clothes. He makes his way upstairs to his and Lori's old bedroom somberly.

 

The sheets on the bed are disheveled and half on the floor. A fine layer of dust covers the surface of the two bedside tables and the drawers from the other pieces of furniture are yanked open. Someone had gone through in a hurry. Besides the obvious mess, things are just like he remembers before he was shot. Except...

 

...the frames, knocked over and lying flat, are void of photographs. Overcome with a dawning sense of hope, he rushes to the closet, of which the doors are wide open. The first thing that he notices is the emptiness of the top shelves; the suitcases, photo albums, and the spare blankets are missing. A good portion of Lori's clothes are gone. Rick wants to cry out in relief, for this can only mean one thing.

 

Lori packed up and left. No looter would have taken pictures, of all things. With renewed determination, Rick removes several shirts and jeans from his side of the closet, leaving an outfit out to change into. Handfulls of underwear and socks follow from the crooked dresser. Boots, too---he is finally able to get out of the flipflops.

 

He dresses quickly and leaves the room, heading to Carl's. His son's room is just as messy, just as empty. Lori left with him. Rick is growing more and more excited by the minute, knowing that his family at least left the house themselves. As he makes his way through the hallway and down the stairs, he takes notice of the walls.

 

He'd been so focused on the mess on the floor, he hadn't realized that the frames are empty here as well. Smiling by the time he reaches the living room, the duffel and bat are tossed onto the couch before he begins sifting through his old trinkets on display, searching for anything that he holds personal value to that no one else would. Even the tickets to the first baseball game that him and Lori took Carl to are gone. His family is alive. Blood wells up in Rick's eyes and he covers his mouth to stifle a sobbing laugh.

 

They're alive, they are, and he will find them. He just has to figure out where Lori would flee to in the event of an emergency. Asking himself the same question, the answer is easy: he would want to make sure that his family is safe. Lori's parents were their closest relatives, in Atlanta. It's as good of a shot as any. Rick's actions take on a purposeful intent as he searches for anything that will benefit him on such a long trip. Naturally, he goes for food first. He is dismayed to find the cabinets mostly bare until remembering that he, in fact, doesn't actually need that kind of food anymore. So he goes for a few off-the-wall items that still remain, that will not be a hindrance: a couple of garbage bags, a travel sewing kit, duct tape, and toiler paper.

 

He is dismayed to discover that his keys are missing. He saves the garage for last, knowing that it can be a possible goldmine if it hasn't been hit already. The possibility is slim but he is still just as hopeful as he turns the knob leading out and opens the door. Instinctively, even though he can see perfectly in the darkness, he tries to flick on the light to no avail. The first thing he notices is that the car is missing and he is able to convince himself that Lori and Carl left in it. A few boxes containing winter clothes have been knocked over and rifled through in a corner.

 

There is one box on the countertop that sticks out, unrecognizable with his own name scrawled across the side and the flaps open. He approaches warily, stepping over an overturned stool to finally peek inside. It's contents make him falter, for they are none other than his belongings from the night he was shot. There is his watch and wedding band, both of which he slips on, his badge, keys, wallet, loose change in a plastic baggie, and his cell phone. He has to try it: pushing the button, nothing happens.

 

"Damn." Rick sighs.

 

Of course, even if it wasn't as dead as a doornail, who's to say that there would even be a signal. The severity of the epidemic hits him again and with it comes the doubt in his gut. No, no, he can't think of that. He needs to believe that Lori and Carl went to Atlanta, are with her parents. With that mantra repeating in his mind, he tosses everything else into the duffel.

 

By the time he gives his house one last once-over, Rick is really feeling the hunger for blood. His mouth almost feels dry and he is having a hard time concentrating. He doesn't know exactly how long he's been gone from Morgan's but his watch shows that it is close to midnight. The sun rises around six thirty; he wants to make it back with time to spare so he's got roughly six hours to get to the hospital, gather more supplies, and get back. There isn't much room left in his bag so, to avoid the hindrance, he hides it behind the overgrown hedges and begins a steady jog to the hospital with the bat in hand.

 

The King County of old is a ghost town, somehow more intimidating than last night. It is so quiet, so dark, even with his enhanced senses. Passing by the house that he woke up in last night---still a huge mystery in itself since he doesn't even know who lived there---he ventures out further to the main road, where the death and destruction is more prominent. Glass litters the asphalt from broken windows and he is very much thankful for changing into shoes. He encounters his first real walker for the night a few blocks over, stumbling with crooked legs down the road.

 

Rick swallows thickly---he really has to get something to eat, soon---and approaches it cautiously. It acknowledges him with a neutral snarl and he grips the bat tighter. The walker lets him get right up to it, side by side, it's decayed flesh even more fetid than the ones he has encountered so far. It turns to him when he makes a noise to get it's attention, pale eyes searching for a meal and what's left of it's nose twitching in interest. Rick nudges it with the bat, toppling it over.

 

It cries out and snarls, very much not happy with the turn of events, and struggles to stand again. Even after the assault, it shows no hostility towards him. He will have to explore this further, once he's got more time. Leaving the walker writhing on the ground, he takes off towards the hospital. The light run is easier on his body now than it was when he was human, not even really exerting himself despite arriving in record time.

 

He is going to have to test out his new abilities, find his limits and discover his strengths and weaknesses. Rick comes to a stop beside the large welcome sign for the Harrison Memorial Hospital. There is no evidence of physical exertion besides the fact that he is so fucking hungry. He pauses before continuing to center himself, calming the beast that wants to show it's ugly head. Morgan has to be right about this, he doesn't want to think about what will happen if he fails to feed before going back to them.

 

Breathing deeply, he scopes the area out. The outside walls of the buildings in the vicinity are charred, some broken to reveal the similar interior conditions. Trash, leveled barricades, and abandoned cars are all over the place and when Rick starts to walk he accidentally kicks something with a soft clink, he is horrified to discover empty bullet casings, lots of them. 5.56mm's. Used in _assault rifles_.

 

It's an eye opener to the true magnitude of what has happened to the world. There is no way to avoid the casings and they continue to clink as he wades through them. Before he gets too far, though, the increasingly familiar sound of a walker reaches his ears and he pauses. He doesn't see her immediately because she isn't standing, half of her legs missing from God knows what and instead leaves a trail of coagulated blood and tissue as she crawls towards the source of the noise. She pulls herself along with her arms, still a few feet away and gaining ground slowly.

 

Rick takes a few steps towards her, meeting her halfway. She looks up at him with dead eyes, groaning and rasping as she takes him in as one of her own. He squats beside her, cringing at the smell and closer visual of her decaying body. Her appearance suggests she has been this way for a long time, longer than any other walker he has come across. Maybe she was the first local? One of the firsts in the world?

 

As she gets closer to him, Rick backs up to avoid her touch. He doesn't want to risk the spread of...whatever this is. Seeming to give up on his presence, the walker twists a bit to dig bone-tipped fingers into the ground to continue on her journey. She is slow moving, not exactly a threat and he feels sorry for her deep down into his being. She didn't ask for this.

 

None of them did.

 

There is only one thing that he can really do for her at this point. It's not just a favor to her and her memory but to Morgan and Duane as well. Steadying the bat, Rick needs to approach her just a bit to be able to aim for the back of her head. She doesn't react, doesn't even acknowledge him and he doesn't hesitate to take the swing. Gray brain matter explodes from the skull caving in, splattering the ground in front of her and she falls limply into the dry grass, dead for good.

 

He stays there for a moment with his eyes closed, gathering his composure before getting up and resuming his journey to the hospital. Stepping over the casings as best as he can, Rick takes off passed the sign, wading through overgrown landscaping to come to a stop in between two run-down helicopters. Where one appears fine, minus the bullet holes, the other has obviously been crashed, it's rotary blades half missing. A torched corpse rests unmoving in the pilot's seat. Tearing himself away from the gruesome sight, Rick moves passed them and up through the parking lot leading up to the hospital's emergency entrance.

 

He wants to stop and explore, look over the questionable burn piles and stained white blankets, but another look at his watch confirms that he has wasted enough time as it is. That and knowing that there may be blood inside for him to feed on without issue. He prays that Morgan is right about this, that the blood is really here and accessible and still good. He doesn't want to imagine what will happen if it's not. He can't.

 

The sliding glass doors are wide open when Rick passes through, allowing him entry with no trouble. A desk greets him inside and he knows that is a good place to start. He climbs up and over, frowning at the dried patch of blood in the far corner beside the filing cabinets. With one look down each direction of the hallways, seeing nothing more, he gets to work searching for a map, something, to point him to where they would store the blood. Where will it be, a lab?

 

Not having the patience to dig through the mess of papers and binders, Rick slaps them off of the desk in a fit of annoyance. He will just have to look around, maybe find a directory by the elevators or something. With a new direction in mind, he hops back over the desk with ease and walks the short length of the hall, rounding a corner. What he sees makes him pause, not expecting the ravaged corpse illuminated by a flickering emergency light.

 

Completely immobile, what was once a woman is now a bloody mess of gore and bone, most of her organs missing and her entrails gnawed on. He raises the collar of his shirt to cover his nose as he passes by it. He doesn't recognize what is left of her face and wonders if maybe once, before, if he ever met her in passing or even helped her. Did she have any family? Does she? He doesn't look back as he steps over her.

 

Dark, bloody footprints tracked through her blood lead away to a hand print on the wall, another corpse in the shadows, and on where they disappear into a room. There are more bullet casings, paper, broken medical equipment, and _grime_ in his path. The physical obstacles are easier to deal with than the mental ones, he concludes as he peers into the room where the tracks lead. He turns his head away from the heap of rotting flesh, a convenient pile that someone piled corpses onto. Thankfully, not in the lab.

 

Following a zigzag path, Rick checks each room that he comes across. Most are patient stay rooms, void of anything save for messy beds and torn curtains. There is no sign of life and the further he goes, the more grim things look. More blood, bullet holes, tipped furniture. It seems like there should be more bodies than there are, but Rick doesn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

He passes through a set of double doors and there is a sharp turn to the left that leads to a thicker, heavier set of double doors with a biohazard symbol on them. It's a promising lead and Rick picks up on it eagerly, having to push hard and even kick at the doors to get them to open. Once upon a time they must have been locked up good, maybe cardkey enforced. He manages to get through without trouble and he eagerly takes in the new room, a receptionary area of sorts with a sliding glass window and another door broken off of its hinges. Another emergency light barely illuminates this room, not really helping his dark vision but not hindering it either. With a peek through the window---it's not open, the glass is just shattered all around---he sees a nurse who has obviously been gunned down.

 

All of it is unnerving, thinking that the military or police just came through with a wave of bullets. Was Shane involved? Did he come through here, too, and kill people? Or the walkers? No. He has a job to do, he needs to do it before he runs out of time. He checks his watch: 2:30 am. That only leaves him about three and a half hours.

 

Rick pushes on, a bit more urgent than his stroll has been so far. He enters into a sort of logistics room with binders upon binders of papers stored on simple metal shelves. Three doors lead out of here and Rick checks them all: an office, a closet, and a lab. He enters the last one, letting the door close behind him. There are a couple of corpses in here in stained scrubs and lab coats.

 

Computers are smashed, chairs toppled, and broken vials litter every surface. Unsure of what biohazardous threats may be in this room, but sure he is getting closer to his target. At least, if the fact that the far wall is one large cluster of heavy doors with warning and instruction labels on them is anything to go by. Rick can't get over there fast enough, foregoing his earlier caution and tripping over a chair in the process. It's not hard to spot what he needs.

 

Refrigerated Blood.

 

He fumbles with the metal handle, ripping the door open and relishing in the hiss from the airtight chamber. The room is cool, not a spec of dust in sight and right there, ready for the taking, are rows upon rows of bags containing blood. Organized by type, Rick does a quick search for his own---does that matter?---and snatches it up. He rips one end of it off, tilts his head back, and pours it into his mouth. His fangs are out before he realizes it, not recognizing the difference in not having to puncture a living being in order to feed.

 

There is an obvious difference in taste, not nearly as delicious as it is fresh, but it has to do. A little bit escapes the corners of his mouth and he wipes it away, licking it off of the back of his hand and goes for another. Unlike with Morgan, it is much easier for Rick to hold back, stopping after three packs. The taste isn't great at all but it's not unpleasant either. When he finishes, he feels refreshed; his entire body abuzz.

 

He can't help but moan, running his fingers over the remaining bags. He needs to transport it, but how? And how long will it last? Until he can make it to Atlanta and raid their blood bank? Yes, it won't take that long to get there.

 

He will be fine.

 

Now that he has a plan, Rick begins searching for a way to transport the blood. A cooler would be ideal but he doubts that he will find one here. As soon as the thought crosses his mind he catches sight of just that: a transport cooler. It is loaded up to the brim, an amount that hardly touches what is in the storage unit, and he checks his watch as he sets it down in the hallway.

 

Almost four. Two hours left.

 

Rick decides that he will spend an hour or so looking around for possible supplies for Morgan and Duane and then leave. Making his way through the halls once again, he snatches a garbage bag from a maintenance closet and passes a nurse's station. As he enters another hallway, he stops in his tracks. At the end of the corridor are a pair of double doors. Scrawled across them in God knows what are the words...

 

_Don't dead, open...oh._

 

Don't open, dead inside. As he gets closer he notices the sign above the door, identifying it as the cafeteria. Will the food be contaminated? Would the walkers even mess with it? It doesn't matter, Rick decides as he pulls on the chain holding the doors together.

 

Hm, not as easy as he thought. Snorting and popping his knuckles, Rick grabs it with both hands and pulls. The metal groans and gives with a snap. He yanks it free and removes the bat from the confines of his gun belt, ready to take down whatever comes out. It doesn't take long for him to hear the telltale sounds of shuffling and moaning, the door moving just slightly before being pushed open.

 

Hands give away to arms and soon the walkers emerge, searching for the source of the sound that riled them. Rick doesn't let them get far, swinging with all of his might to bring them down as quickly and efficiently as possible. With his newfound strength, it's easy to kill them with a single blow to the head. The walkers drop like flies around him and Rick moves and sidesteps to spread the heap out. It wouldn't be any good to wade through that.

 

Eleven bodies later, they stop coming and he makes sure that there are no stragglers before venturing into the cafeteria. The smell is terrible, rank with both walkers and corpses. The dead dead litter the floor, as if a group of people were just locked away to be eaten alive. Rick doesn't want to think about it; it's too late for them and he needs to hurry. He bolts across the room, slowing down only after sliding on---nope, not going to look.

 

The stench isn't as bad in the kitchen, at least. Maneuvering around buffet tables, he passes the stove and begins pulling open drawers. Lucking out on the first try, he immediately removes the bag from his pocket and sets to work filling it up. Weighing each item before bagging it, he doesn't even look at labels, instead concentrating on what he can carry. It's not going to take long to strain the plastic of the bag. All in all, judging from what he feels, he manages to snag some crackers, oats, bread, and salt, among other things. A glance at his watch reveals that he's got thirty five minutes to spare.

 

Plenty of time to grab the cooler of blood and the duffel from home and make it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't spread GRIMES...please WALSH your hands. <3


	4. Goodbye To Everything That I Knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick finishes up in King County and leaves for Atlanta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp...Saturday morning at 4am I went on a road trip to my dad to Biloxi, Mississippi. 678 miles, one way, all to move my stepmother's half brother up here. I had a friggin BLAST! And Biloxi is beautiful, I think I could live there. But we got home Sunday night and I was exhausted Monday.
> 
> I typed this up last night but was so tired by the time I finished I went on to bed. It would have been up earlier but I was bitten by a feral dog at work (I work with dogs) today and had to go to the doctor. Hooray for tetanus shots!
> 
> So it's been an exciting week for me so far. 
> 
> Fic is not beta'd and I still don't own anything.
> 
> Um...chapter title is from the song 'Goodbye To You', by: Michelle Branch. Also, as you may have noticed, I changed the title from 'Death Is Not The End' to 'Bad Things'. I was never satisfied with the title and whereas it is a great song, the title made me think of 'The Mummy' every time. 'Bad Things' is a good song, too, sung by Jace Everett and is actually the theme song to True Blood, which is where I am getting some information and timeline events and such from.
> 
> I have said it before and I will say it again, if there is something that you guys find that you have a question about or that just doesn't make sense, let me know and I will explain or fix it.
> 
> I will try to get some artwork going for this fic, soon...hopefully. Maybe.
> 
> Oh, and I edited something from previous chapters. Rick doesn't find his uniform pins and gun in a storage box at home. They are at the station, as mentioned in this chapter. Sorry for the change.

"Wake up, Rick. Sun's gone down."

  
  
Morgan's voice is quiet through the closet door following a sharp knock.

  
  
"Give me a minute." Rick replies, listening to the other's footsteps as he makes his way back to the living room.

  
  
He sits up and stretches to the best of his abilities in the confined space, rolling his shoulders and popping his neck. He will do a better job at it one he is done feeding. Before drifting off to sleep earlier, he'd worried if the blood that he'd consumed would make him sick. So far, so good and he has already decided that he will give the blood two more days until he tosses it. Surely it will be alright.

  
  
With those thoughts fueling his confidence, he gets into the cooler and pulls out a bag of O+. If he remembers right, when it comes to transfusions, O+ can give to A+. So does that mean that he can consume it, too? Does it even make a difference? He will have to ask Morgan before he leaves.

  
  
Taking a corner of the bag into his mouth, he bites down and pulls, ripping it enough to get a good flow. His fangs snap out and he guzzles the bag, sucking and squeezing to ensure that not a single drop goes to waste. He repeats the process with three more bags and stops there, retracting his fangs just as easily. By God, does he want more, but he has to resist. He's got to pace himself until he knows how much what he has will last.

  
  
Wiping his mouth to ensure that there is no residue, Rick exits the closet carrying his meager possessions. Morgan is cleaning some weapons and Duane is reading a comic book; both look up when he enters.

  
  
"Good...uh, good morning, Rick." the boy greets and Rick smiles at him.

  
  
"Good morning."

  
  
"You look better than you did last night." Morgan says, gathering up the small collection of weapons as he finishes them.

  
  
"I feel better. Actually, I've got a plan."

  
  
"Oh?"

  
  
"Yeah. I got my keys last night so we can go on to the station and get the guns and my cruiser. Lori must have taken the car when she left. I'm leaving for Atlanta, tonight. You can come with me if you want, but I just...I've got to find them."

  
  
"I get that."

  
  
"I appreciate all you've done for me, you have no idea."

  
  
"We appreciate you too, Rick. It's a shame we've got to part ways."

  
  
The words sap the excitement right out of the ex-cop.

  
  
"You're not coming?"

  
  
"Nah. Maybe later on. I...we just can't right now." Morgan says and Rick can tell that there is something that he isn't telling him.

  
  
He doesn't call him out on it, though. No, Rick leaves the conversation open for the other man to elaborate. He is truly thankful to the other for what he has done for him. His newfound friend remains silent and he is fine with that.

  
  
"Can I ask you something, before I go?" he asks.

  
  
"Anything."

  
  
"Does it matter what blood type I drink? Can I mix and match?"

  
  
"No and yes."

  
  
Rick chuckles, "Alright. Jesus, what am I going to do without you?"

  
  
Morgan pats him on the arm, "You're going to find your wife and son and you are going to _survive_ , Rick Grimes."

  
  
Rick is vaguely aware of Duane standing up from the side, approaching them with the confidence of a grown man.

  
  
He holds a hand out to him, "It was nice meeting you. I hope you find your family."

  
  
Rick reaches out, squeezing his hand in respect, "Thank you. It was good meeting you, too."

  
  
Morgan draws Duane into him when they break away, "You coming back here after you leave the station?"

  
  
"Yeah. I seem to recall owing you come guns."

  
  
Morgan chuckles softly, shaking his head, "I would say that I'm surprised but after getting to know you some, I'm really not."

  
  
"I'm a man of my word."

  
  
"Well, then, I guess I will be seeing you soon, then."

  
  
"I'll leave these here until I come back through, is that alright?" Rick asks, gesturing to the bag and cooler.

  
  
"Yeah." Morgan replies.

  
  
Rick grabs the keys to the station and bids father and son another quick farewell. Morgan lets him out through the back and locks it from the inside. Alone, Rick bends over to stretch out his legs and then sets off into a run. He wants to cover as much ground as he can tonight, get to Atlanta as soon as possible. Going by the frequent road trips to Lori's parents', it should only take less than an hour.

  
  
There are more walkers out tonight meandering around the streets, attracted by the thump of his shoes on the pavement but otherwise indifferent to his presence.

  
  
Rick makes it downtown in record time and begins to feel proud of himself until he remembers that vampires have enhanced speed. After that he attempts to test the ability out, pushing and pushing himself until he damn near passes the station up. Pausing at the road, he uses another burst of speed to get himself to the main door. The feeling is incredible and he is eager to run back to the house but first, he's got to raid the armory. He pulls the keys out of his pocket, instinctively fishing out the correct one to unlock the door.

  
  
Where the outside of the station is rundown and overgrown, the inside is in relative order and near untouched. It's almost exactly how Rick remembers and if he closes his eyes, he can imagine himself in uniform like it's any other day on the job. He can smell the freshly brewed coffee, feel the blast of air conditioning, and hear the ambience that came to be his life. Sighing in bliss, feeling the most relaxed since he woke up, he opens his eyes and takes in the dark hallway open before him. Setting off into a confident gait, he passes the breakroom, restroom, and offices and comes to a thick wooden door.

  
  
It opens up into a large, open room full of desks and roller chairs, the very one that Rick spent most of his time in with Shane. Everything is so still, so quiet, not at all like it was before. That difference is enough to break him from his trance, reminding him that he doesn't have a whole lot of time. About seven hours, actually. Damn, and he thought time flew by when he was alive.

  
  
Rick weaves in between desks, one of which belonging to Shane---he stops to observe its surface, feeling a longing for his friend. Maybe after he finds Lori and Carl, they can search for him together. Or hell, maybe they left town together. Shane had family in Savannah, they could have gone there. If Atlanta runs cold, that will be his next destination.

  
  
He runs his fingers along the back of the chair fondly, tearing himself away to approach his own. Someone must have straightened it up after he was shot; loose papers are gone and his utensils are neatly organized. The calendar placemat is open on June...the month that he was shot. A hand unconsciously brushes over a wound that is no longer there as Rick sits down. He doesn't even know when he died.

  
  
Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, he unlocks the desk drawer containing a few personal affects: specifically, an address book. If Atlanta and Savananh are busts, he's got a list to follow. Out of habit he locks his desk back up and stands, tucking the little blue book with dolphins on it into the safety of his back pocket. Next, he crosses the room with every intent of retrieving the guns...until he passes by the hall leading to the communal showers.

  
  
Rick pauses in mid-step, staring at the closed door longingly. A shower sounds fantastic; a hot shower sounds even better. Licking his lips, he heads that way. White tile beckons to him and before he even makes the decision, he knows he's lost the battle. After all, this may be his last chance for a while.

  
  
May as well make himself presentable to his family. He is _filthy_. He kicks his shoes off as he enters, unbuttoning his pants and dropping them and his underwear soon after. The shirt is tossed onto the floor with his watch as he reaches the first stall and he wastes no time in turning on the hot water. The pipes groan and the water that comes out is initially cool so while it warms up, he uses the wall to balance himself and remove his socks. Stark naked where he stands, letting the anticipation build up at being able to wash off two nights worth of grime. It's only when the faintest bit of steam begins to rise does he step under the spray, moaning at the sensation.

  
  
Never has he ever gone more than a day without bathing. Not exactly a germ freak, it was rather the feel of the water beating on ever-stiff muscles, relaxing him, soothing him, that he enjoyed. He hopes that his family has this luxury, wherever they are. Once he leaves King County, he will give the key to Morgan so they may shower as well. Duane is going to love this.

  
  
Body wash and a bottle of shampoo lean precariously on a caddy against the wall and Rick makes use of them without a second thought. In the rare times that he had to shower here, he always used his own products, kept away in his locker. He'll grab those when he leaves, for the road. For now, though, he washes leisurely, not stopping until the water around his feet is clear. The water is still so soothing and Rick really doesn't want to stop, but he has to.

  
  
He shuts it down and approaches his pants, tugging the keys out of the pocket and continues on towards his locker. Pausing in front of it, he takes in the multitude of cards taped to its surface. Consisting mostly of "get well soon"'s, there are more intricate notes from Shane and Lori as well as a few pages of drawings from Carl and some of his friends, depicting him as a hero. It's heartwarming and he removes them one by one, tucking the single piece of tape on each back onto itself so they don't stick to one another. He sets them on the bench behind him to grab before he leaves.

  
  
The locker opens without trouble and Rick takes in the sight of his uniform. It must be the very one that he was shot in if the sewn up shoulder and mild stains are anything to go by. His friends, his family, must have cleaned it up to the best of their abilities and fixed it up for him, pins and all. Mesmerized by the consideration, he touches the stitchwork longingly. It wouldn't have fit uniform regulation but it definitely has a story to tell.

  
  
He grabs the case on the shelf containing his toiletries and goes to a nearby sink to shave. Lori never liked him with a beard and he's got a few weeks worth of scruff going on. _Greying_ scruff. As he spreads shaving cream onto his face he thinks about how no, he won't be aging anymore. Does that also mean that his hair won't grow back?

  
  
It didn't in that one vampire movie. He's not willing to test the sparkling theory, God forbid. As he shaves, Rick brainstorms every vampire that he can think of in pop culture, comparing and contrasting their varying appearances and powers. He wishes he had enough time to learn more from Morgan but if the man isn't wanting to leave, he can't force him. Maybe he will meet another vampire, maybe he will learn it all on his own.

  
  
Rick stares at himself in the mirror after cleaning off his face, taking in his pale skin and vivid blue eyes. Then he opens his mouth to look for fangs. He remembers how they feel when they come out on their own and tries to mimic those muscle movements. It's easy this time, like "a muscle that he hasn't used in a while", actually. With a flinch of his upper lip, he watches the pearly white fangs flick into place.

  
  
He opens his mouth wide and checks them out in earnest, taking in their shape and unusual location. They are sharp, too, he discovers when he gets a little too rough with his tongue. He retracts them...and brings them out again. Giving them one last look in the mirror, he reaches into his back and removes a toothbrush and paste. He pays extra mind to the new additions as he brushes, meticulous in his cleaning.

  
  
Inspecting himself one last time, he sprays on some deoderant---do vampires even sweat?---and packs everything away for the trip. He doesn't put on the same clothes as before, instead opting for the uniform in his locker, Not only is it a symbol that people can trust but it truly is a testament to what he has gone through. It is probably the last link he will have, with the cards and drawings, to the people that he died in service to. His boots, hat, and gunbelt are even here, as clean as a whistle.

  
  
With the gunbelt in place around his hips and meager belongings packed in a garbage bag, Rick finally approaches the weapons vault. It is locked and secure with no obvious signs of forced entry, for which he is glad. If some idiot had tried to force their way inside, they could have ruined the locking mechanism and with it, anyone's ability to enter. With the shifting of bolts and turning of the handle, he silently pleads that there are even guns inside, that the other officers didn't clean it out before they fled. He sighs in relief: the cage is also secure and only a few guns are missing from the rack.

  
  
"Thank God."

  
  
Rick fumbles with his keys and snatches a couple of duffel bags upon entry, loading the up as equally as possible with two radios, pistols, rifles, shotguns, and ammo. He leaves none behind, figuring that anyone who would take any already has. No point on leaving any behind on a chance. Loaded with everything that he came here for and then some, he makes a final sweep before leaving out the personnel side door, out into the parking lot where the cruisers are kept. And there his is.

  
  
Shane must have been the last one to drive, for the seat is too far back. He adjusts it to his comfort level and slides the keys into the ignition. It takes a couple attempts but after the engine sputters a few timesit finally roars to life. He is dismayed to find that it is low on gas. Shoving the bags into the passenger's seat, he closes the door and throws it into reverse. What he doesn't expect is the 'thud' of something hitting his back bumper.

  
  
Rick panics and throws open the door, fearing the worst, but he calms down when he realizes that it's a walker. That is, until he recognizes its face.

  
  
"No, Leon..."

  
  
His old comrade is squirming on the ground where he'd been knocked over, probably drawn in by the noise of the engine trying to start. He growls at his proximity but otherwise makes no acknowledgement of him. Rick closes his eyes, hating what he has to do to this man. No, he isn't a man anymore, not Leon. This is a _danger_.

  
  
To Morgan. To Duane.

  
  
Oh, God, this man had a family.

  
  
"You were a good man, an asset to the force."

  
  
Rick's voice wavers and he removes his gun from the holster, pressing the barrel to Leon's forehead.

  
  
"Goodbye. Rest in peace, now."

  
  
He pulls the trigger and the back of Leon's head explodes in a gorey mess with a loud boom.

  
  
Rick wastes no time, not wanting to draw more walkers to his location or worse, to Morgan's. He carefully moves Leon's body and gets back into the crown vic, backing up just enough to be able to take off. This time around, he spots a few more walkers than before but chalks it up to the noise: probably the first that they've heard in a while, as quiet as Morgan has been in the short time that he's known him. He will miss them and be forever grateful for their help but he can't stay. Maybe they will join him in Atlanta, soon.

  
  
He certainly hopes so.

  
  
The clock strikes 2:41 when Rick pulls up in front of the house and he cuts the engine, grabbing one of the bags of guns and using his increased speed to reach the back door. He knocks and before he even finishes, Morgan is opening the door and ushering him inside.

  
  
"Looking good, Rick."

  
  
"Thanks. I don't have too long, the walkers may follow the sound of the car."

  
  
"We heard a gunshot, is everything okay?"

  
  
"Yeah. I came across one that I knew. Put him down."

  
  
Morgan nods at him solemnly, letting him pass and following him to the living room where Duane sits.

  
  
"I separated the guns and ammo evenly. Also got you a radio so we can contact each other while hte battery lasts."

  
  
Rick produces the device and hands it off to Morgan's awaiting hand.

  
  
"When you come to Atlanta, use this. I will broadcast every night after sundown for a few minutes. If I am not in Atlanta, I will be going to Savannah next. And if I'm not...not there...I will leave a sign for you. Oh, and here."

  
  
Rick unhooks the station key from his keyring, handing it over as well.

  
  
"If you want a hot shower. Might even be a safe place for you."

  
  
As he finishes, Rick gathers up the last of his load.

  
  
"It was good meeting you, Rick." Morgan tells him, closing his hand around the key.

  
  
"Going to miss having you." Duane pipes up and Rick smiles at him.

  
  
"Not as much as I'll miss you. You two take good care of each other."

  
  
"You do the same. You _will_ find your family."

  
  
"Thank you, and I hope you're right."

  
  
"Before you go," Morgan stops him as he attempts to walk by, "Be careful out there. You may be invisible to walkers but you don't let one near you. Early on, they were heavy in the cities. I can only imagine what it's like now."

  
  
"I will. Goodbye and good luck."

  
  
"Same to you."

  
  
Rick hates that his parting from Morgan and Duane is so rushed but, honestly, he didn't think that part through. He is able to pick up on the increased number of walkers in the area and he moves fast, dumping his belongings into the back seat and starting the car. With the gas pedal pressed firmly to its limit, Rick drives the car to the end of the road and turns on the sirens. The noise is piercing in the night and Rick taps his foot as he waits for a good crowd of walkers to gather before moving forward just a little bit, enough to lead them a safe distance away. Mindful of the gas tank and the time, he does this until he reaches the city limits and guns it down the highway towards I85.

  
  
The graveyard that is King County, GA fades in Rick's rear view mirror and now all that is left before him is a deserted road, a graveyard in its own right and the fastest route to reunite him with his wife and son.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think! Rick will meet the Atlanta group in chapter five / six-ish and he will meet Daryl in chapter six / seven-ish. I know it is slow going but I am trying to set things up. :x
> 
> P.S. I despise Twilight. If you like the series, kudos to you. I am not going to put you down for it...but you may find some minor jabs at it.


	5. I'm On The Highway To Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick makes it to Atlanta and doesn't find his family. But someone does find him...almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I've had this chapter ready to go for a little but but things have been busy for me. I had to fix something on my motorcycle (woman power, hya!) and I am training to be a dog groomer. Whoot!  
> Also, up until this point, I've had more chapters written and ready than I had posted. Sadly, the next chapter (6) is giving me issues. With that, I have gone between this one, Savin' Me, and Wild. Between the three, there will be updates. lol
> 
> Chapter title is from 'Highway to Hell', by: ACDC. <3
> 
> No beta. Still own nothing, though I am trying to change up the plot just a wee bit.

At first, Rick made finding a gas station his top priority. Each one that he came across was surrounded by abandoned vehicles and even a few tents. There was no trace of life, only makeshift signs hanging high with the damning words: _No Gas_. A few even said sorry. So he gives it up in favor of driving as long as he can until his cruiser finally dies just shy of twenty miles away from Atlanta.

  
  
Damn Shane for letting the car get below half a tank.

  
  
Fortunately, there seems to be two gas stations right by the interstate and he silently pleads for a stroke of luck as he pops open the trunk. Locking the car---force of habit---he then taps into his newfound abilities to run to the closest one. Just like the others, it too is an island in a sea of death and abandonment. The manmade sign sways in a gentle summer breeze, warding off potential passerbyers just like the others. Steeling himself, Rick crosses the road to the other.

  
  
Immediately, it doesn't look much better; worse, actually, in the amount of desolation surrounding it. He descends the hill towards the parking lot, wincing to himself when the takes notice of a corpse behind the wheel of a car. Insects feed on its rotting flesh, not even botherd by his proximity when he passes. The buzzing fades behind him the closer he gets to the forecourt and its not long until he sees what is becoming a familiar sign hanging from the overhead. No gas.

  
  
Rick hangs his head in frustration and wipes a hand down his face. He can't spend the whole night searching for one that might be a hit. In that time, he may as well abandon the cruiser and foot it. With a resolute sigh he turns around to trek back up the hill to his car when a shuffle gets his attention. He falters, listening for it again so he may pinpoint the sound.

  
  
It's close, maybe even on the other side of the wall of cars.

  
  
Remembering the walker that couldn't...well, _walk_ , Rick removes his hat to set it on the ground along with the empty gas can so that he may kneel on all fours to look under the vehicles. He takes a lip between his teeth at what he sees: the skinny, dirty legs of a child that disappear into equally dingy bunny slippers. Watching as they trudge along, he starts when they bend over to pick up a loan teddy bear laying on the asphalt. Walkers can't, _don't_ , do that, do they? As those little legs continue walking around a corner, Rick follows and calls out.

  
  
To _her_.

  
  
"Little girl?"

  
  
She stops, unmoving.

  
  
He goes on, "Don't be afraid, I'm a policeman."

  
  
The girl turns around and he sucks in a breath.

  
  
Her cheeks are hollow, eyes sunken and yellowed in the midst of decomposition. A chunk of flesh from around her mouth is missing, the killing wound from a fateful run-in with a walker. With that teddy bear still clenched in a tiny fist, she takes a step forward and then another, drawing closer to Rick. The ex-cop meets it with his own step back, mouth agape, not willing to let her close enough to touch him. She continues towards him in dumb curiousity.

  
  
It's not a little girl anymore, Rick tells himself as he draws his gun. He needs to kill her so she won't hurt anyone who may cross her path. That is what makes it easy for him to take aim, right for the head, and pull the trigger. Her head jerks with the impact and she crumbles to the ground, fingers still holding on to her bear.

  
  
Shakily, he approaches her still form, eying the blood pooling beneath her. It really is a shame, someone so young meeting such a greusome fate. It's a shame for _anyone_ to die like this and for the first time, Rick feels gratitude. He's not thought much about it, but how close was he to becoming one of those things? Who he could have _killed_.

  
  
He shakes his head and turns away from the corpse, treading distractedly back to where he'd laid his hat and gas can down on the pavement. Retrieving them and making his way back to the cruiser, he weighs his options. With twenty miles to go and about three hours left until sunrise, if he spends time trying to find gasoline, he may not make it to Atlanta tonight. But if he foots it...he knows that it was impossible before he was turned. But now?

  
  
He recalls back in King County, when he'd run to the police station. It had taken mere seconds. And if he doesn't make it, there are plenty of places to rest out the day. He can do this. With newfound determination, he begins to unload the cruiser.

  
  
The gas can stays but the hat, guns, and cooler goes as well as his meager personal belongings, including his duffel of clothes.

  
  
One last sweep of the car produces a picture of his family and a flashlight. Not that he needs the latter, but you never know. The bags are slung over opposite shoulders and the cooler held in his left hand and with a deep breath, he sets off into a jog. The jog becomes a run and in no time at all, his surroundings become a blur. It's exilerating, running like this.

  
  
As the signs for Atlanta's exits begin, signalling his arrival, with them comes a familiar urge to feed. Making good on time, Rick slows to a stop so that he may get into the cooler for some blood. When he rips into the pack, he takes notice of his surroundings for the first time. Having been to Atlanta countless times before, it's disturbing to see the city so... _dead_. No lights, no sounds, no sign of life.

  
  
Whereas north I85 is bare of any vehicles, the southbound lanes out of the city is packed full, bumper to bumper. Most of the cars are abandoned and a few have rotted bodies slumped over in the seats. All of them are desolate. The scenery is more than a little unnerving to Rick, especially in the lonely dark of night. It doesn't make Atlanta look as promising as he'd hoped.

  
  
He stops himself after two packs and continues at a slightly slower pace into the barren city. There are no signs of life, no hints at a haven for weary travelers. The town is utterly void and Rick feels the familiar rising of fear in his gut. Even being invisible to walkers, stronger than any human, he feels unnerved and vulnerable. Is he being _watched_?

 

  
Slowing once again, he listens with inhuman hearing before calling out in a restrained voice, "Hello?"

  
  
There isn't a sound that reaches him, not even a gust of wind.

  
  
Louder this time, "Hello?"

  
  
Nothing.

  
  
Wouldn't a sanctuary have patrols or something? Maybe not, once he's had a moment to think about it. He will just have to find them, himself. According to his watch, he still has plenty of time to cover some ground. He sets an alarm, just in case.

  
  
Adjusting his cargo a bit, Rick begins running. He will give the city a good once-over, however long that takes, and if that turns up nothing then he will check at his inlaws. For a short while he finds nothing note-worthy. He passes the fancy Italian restaurant where he asked Lori to marry him. Now the glass is busted out and the sign is hanging by a lone chain.

  
  
Half an hour into his search, Rick comes across a walker. At first he thinks it is a corpse, laying haphazardly on the side of the street, until it makes a sound. Once his attention is drawn to it, though, his stomach drops. It's hardly moving because it _can't_. Its skin looks to be damn near _melted_ to the ground.

  
  
Rick gasps and stumbles away from it. God, it. He can't even tell if it used to be a man or a woman. He walks backwards, away from it, too stunned to avert his eyes. What _happened_?

  
  
After that, he doesn't run anymore. He takes his time through the city, looking at everything, taking in the destruction. Several windows are busted out, building faces and cars charred. Plants are dead. People are dead.

  
  
Atlanta is dead.

  
  
The further inward he goes, the more common walkers become. Some are all but glued to the ground, others trapped in vehicles and a few are even milling about in the darkness. He begins to wonder if there even is a refuge camp here. Nothing that he's seen has hinted to the presence of one. If that is the case, he prays to God that Lori and Carl are far away from this place.

  
  
Especially when he rounds a corner and comes face-to-face with what can only be described as a damn herd of walkers. There are hundreds of them, possibly even a thousand. They are meandering about on the road aimlessly, indifferent to his stunned presence. The only way around them is through an alleyway and he doesn't want to get close enough to slide by...just in case. With the sky above just begining to lighten, Rick decides to just call it a night.

  
  
He will rest and maybe by the next evening, the walkers wil have dispersed or moved on and he can look aroundd some more. With plenty of buildings to choose from, he settles on the one nearby. A department store. Maybe there will even be supplies inside that he can make use of. The doors are unlocked, though, showing evidence of fray; cracked glass, more burn marks, and dents. Still yet, he locks them behind him and takes in his surroundings.

  
  
Slightly disheveled and chaotic but untouched. He should be able to find a safe place to rest. Rick explores the isles and stairwells, opens each door and behind every counter. He settles for rest in a fitting room: a concealed place to hide where he can hear someone---or something---coming. One way in or out. It's perfect.

  
  
He drinks one packet of blood before sleep. Whether or not it's from nerves or a guinuine hunger, he's not sure. There is still a good supply in the cooler and there is always one of the many hospitals in Atlanta that he can check. With the duffels hanging from the clothing hooks and the cooler on the bench beside him, he props his feet up off of the floor and closes weary eyes. The night has been disappointing, to say the least, and he hopes that something will turn up tomorrow. As the adrenaline leaves him, he begins to relax, confident in the safety of his chosen place to rest.

  
  
That is, until a few short hours later when he hears someone knocking against a nearby wall.

  
  
Well, shit.  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think!


	6. Now And Again We Try To Just Stay Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick meets a group of supply runners in Atlanta but not all of them are as open to the idea of a vampire among them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so...I lied to you guys. I told you that Daryl should be making an appearance...well, in this chapter. I got to writing it, though, and if I hadn't stopped where I did it would have been uber long. But I PROMISE you, Daryl will make an appearance in the next one. I have it all planned out.
> 
> Speaking of planning...this fic isn't following canon exactly. Think of it as a retell of the series. I am trying to take into consideration a sort of cause and effect based off of certain changes...such as Rick being a vampire.  
> 1\. Time changes, ie things happening at different parts of the day.  
> 2\. Rick is a vampire, things will be different.  
> 3\. Not related to Rick being a vampire, but I would think that in the group's time together at the quarry that they would have exchanged names. It seems like Glenn would recognize the last name Grimes, coupled with Lori's husband being thought dead, and this vampire in the area looking for his wife and son...who share the same last name.  
> I hope the changes are okay with you guys, I would think so but you never know. I mean, it makes the story different, you know?
> 
> Anywho, I give you chapter seven. It would have been a monster of a chapter if I had included Daryl so I split it up. The next think that I update will probably be 'Wild'. Sorry for the delay in your fic, msbt. ;-;
> 
> Chapter title is from 'Never Too Late', by: Three Day's Grace.
> 
> So fic is still not beta'd, all mistakes are mine, and I do not own The Walking Dead or True Blood. If you have any questions about the lingo or what is going on in relation to True Blood, if you are not familiar with it, let me know. I am pretty sure I left things basic enough and / or explained that is can be understood without the knowledge, but just in case. I will answer you in the comments if you want to ask anything.
> 
> ALSO, this chapter contains racism and racial slurs that I do not agree with nor use, but...it's Merle. He uses them.
> 
> Oh, yes, most importantly: Thank you msbt (again)! You are awesome. Here is some art done by the very lovely, msbt: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3618864/chapters/11959520

"Hello?"

 

The person, whoever it is, fumbles over his words at Rick's unexpected query.

 

"Oh, shit man. I'm sorry. Didn't know anyone else was here---"

 

"Wait!" Rick calls out, clambering up off of the bench seat to throw open the fitting room door.

 

He flinches at the flashlight that shines into his face, blocking the rays with a well-placed hand. The young man mutters another quick apology and lowers the beam, allowing Rick to get a good look at him. Obviously of Asian descent, a ball cap is pulled over his head and he carries a pack on his back. His accent bears no southern twang and he regards Rick with friendly, if not wary, dark eyes. Rick holds his hands up to show that he means no harm.

 

"Are there many people left in the city? A...a refugee camp of some kind?" he asks, silently praying that this kid can help him.

 

There is a pregnant pause between them.

 

"You not from around here?"

 

"No. I came here looking for my family."

 

The young man seems to debate something in his mind before speaking again, "There is no refugee anything in the city. You're the first living person I've come across here."

 

Rick can say that he expected the answer, with the way things look outside. But then...

 

"What _are_ you doing here?"

 

"We have a camp outside of the city. We're running low on supplies, so..." he takes in Rick's uniform, "...we're not looting, I promise."

 

Rick chuckles; he can tell that this is a good man.

 

"I'm Rick Grimes."

 

"Glenn Rh---wait, Grimes? Any relation to a Lori or Carl? They your family?"

 

Even as he hears the words, Rick is frozen in place, unable to process what the man, Glenn, is saying. He knows Lori and Carl? How? Are they at this camp that he is speaking of? There are so many things that he wants to say, wants to ask, but can't bring himself to do so.

 

Instead he feels blood well up in his eyes and nods dumbly.

 

"Whoa! Wait, you're a _vampire_?!" Glenn exclaims, backing himself up against a wall.

 

Rich reaches out, trying to speak in a calm voice, "Wait, don't run, please! I won't hurt you, please! I woke up this way!"

 

Glenn doesn't run. In fact, he doesn't even look scared. His dark eyes are wide and he is looking at him in wonder, as if he is staring at a creature thought to be extinct. Which, he pretty much is if Morgan's words are true. Vampires are fewer in numbers than humans, apparently.

 

"They didn't say you were a vampire." Glenn says steadily, "You don't look infected."

 

"I wasn't a vampire, I woke up this way." Rick repeats, "And I'm not infected, see?"

 

He untucks and lifts up his shirts to reveal his bare chest, free of the telltale darkened veins associated with Hep V.

 

"You're not...hungry...are you?" Glenn asks timidly, willing to give him the benefit of the doubt yet still concerned for his well being in that aspect.

 

"No, no. I've stocked up on blood from the hospital in my hometown. Look, Lori and Carl, they're my wife and son and if you know where they are, I need you to take me to them. Please." Rick tells him, keeping his distance yet lowering his hands.

 

"Lori, she said that her husband was...oh."

 

 _Oh_? What does that mean? He waits on Glenn to elaborate.

 

"She thought you were dead. They think you're dead. Like... _dead_ dead."

 

Rick runs a hand down his face, trying to sort through the questions running through his mind. One thing at a time, he tells himself.

 

"Can you take me to them?" he asks, staring at Glenn pointedly.

 

Lori and Carl are _so close_.

 

"I can but I'm not so sure about the others welcoming a vampire into camp...not that it bothers me, I always though you guys were kind of cool before you started killing everyone. But you're clean and you've not latched on to me yet, so that's got to count for something, right?"

 

Rick starts to reply but a loud _boom_ interrupts him, causing both men to jump.

 

"Oh, no." Glenn gasps, "Wait here, I'll be right back."

 

"No, wait!" Rick calls after him, cursing when the other man leaves him behind.

 

Tapping into his vampiric speed, he gathers up his belongings from the fitting room and runs after Glenn, catching up to him and one other: a beautiful blonde woman who shrieks when he stops beside her.

 

"No, no, it's okay! _He's_ okay! What was that?" Glenn asks her.

 

"I don't know! Dixon---"

 

"Oh, no." Glenn says again, making a beeline for the stairs.

 

Rick can hear the slamming of doors on the stairwell and the stomping of feet above them and he briefly wonders if Lori or even Carl are among this group of supply runners that Glenn has with him. They ascend a few more floors, eventually catching up to a black man and woman before reaching a heavy steel door labeled simply as 'roof'. The door is opened in haste and without thinking, Rick is right there when the sunlight breeches the stairwell and he screams in pure agony at the burning sensation that lights his skin on fire. He falls back into the startled blonde, who is frightened by the sudden turn of events and rushes on passed to join the others outside. Panting harshly, shakily, Rick briefly catches the word 'vampire' before the door shuts, muffling any other words and bathing him in the calming, painless dark of the building.

 

He can't make out what is being said outside through the ringing in his ears---Jesus Christ that _hurt_ \---but he can tell that voices are raised in confrontation. Slumping against the wall, he runs quivering fingertips over his brow, over fresh burns, and tries to listen. Discord appears to be tearing apart the group outside and Rick braces himself for what that will mean for him. Of course there are people out there who still dislike vampires, probably moreso in these dark times. He doesn't want to think about it but Lori may very well be one of them.

 

Something is happening outside. Some yells, curses, and thumps. Rick wants to investigate, to help like his police instincts are screaming at him to do, but the threat of the sunlight is enough to keep him grounded. It is killing him on the inside but nothing like it will on the outside if he steps through that door. So he sits there, helplessly listens, and waits.

 

Rick doesn't hear the footsteps until it is too late as the door is ripped open, revealing a thick man in a sleeveless shirt, silhouetted by the blinding light from the sun. As his skin starts to sizzle, the man grabs at him and attempts to drag him outside. Rick panics, the sensation intensified by the fact that this _complete stranger_ is trying to kill him for no reason. Bracing himself on the stairwell, he pulls back to retreat deeper into the building, away from the light, and dragging the man with him. He is putting up a fight but he is no match for Rick's strength.

 

"Fucking _fanger_! I'm gonna kill your ass!" comes a rough, deep southern voice.

 

For all of the bluster, he is really no match for Rick but that doesn't stop him from trying.

 

"Merle! Merle, _stop_!"

 

Rick manages to about halfway down the stairs before the man, _Merle_ , releases the tension and pushes, sending him tumbling down in an unceremonious heap. Fortunately it doesn't hurt him and it gets him out of the sun faster but it releases a white hot anger from within. As Merle descends upon him, Rick leaps to his feet, fangs extending, and tackles him onto his back. Merle screams, yelling obscenities and insults, and settles for punching at the back of his head. Rick pulls back, though, and retaliates in kind.

 

He only hits him once, hard enough to bounce Merle's head against the floor, but it gets the job done. While the redneck is seeing stars, Rick whips out his handcuffs and secures him to the handrail. The scuffle has his body singing in excitement, the burns on his skin forgotten in his moment of victory. Merle shifts from his position on the floor, dazed, and Rick hovers over him with a familiar, frightening urge to feed. He licks his lips, feeling the warmth of Merle's body through their clothes and he just wants so bad to rip through his flesh and drink his life essence.

 

"Rick! _Don't_!"

 

Glenn's voice breaks through the haze and Rick glowers up at him and the group huddling in the background.

 

"Shut the door." he growls, panting heavily over the boiling of his skin.

 

The men and women whose names Rick doesn't know shuffle back, allowing for Glenn to step through the threshold and close the door, shrouding them in darkness once again. He can watches Glenn squint and blink as if it will help him see and observes Merle trying to rub his head with his right hand, only for it to stop with a clank of metal. Rick catches the realization dawn on his face as he tugs on the cuffs, followed by a look of pure, unadulterated rage. Glenn fumbles around and pulls his flashlight out, shining it on Merle and then Rick, who shields his eyes. Merle focuses on Rick before exploding.

 

"You mother fucker! You best let me go! Fucking vampire, I'll _kill_ you!"

 

Overlooking him, Glenn calls out cautiously, "Rick?"

 

Blue eyes bore into brown and Rick licks at his fangs, willing himself to calm down. He doesn't need to frighten these people that he just met, who will take him to Lori and Carl. Most importantly, he doesn't need to feed off of any of them, even if he was attacked first. He has to be the better man. He has to drink from his stash.

 

Retreating from Merle's prone form, Rick drops his bags and cooler, opening the latter to retrieve a packet of blood. Ignoring Merle's disgusted ranting and Glenn's curious gawking, he opens it up and begins suckling. It doesn't taste nearly as good as it had a few hours ago and about halfway through, he is concerned that it won't sate him. Fortunately, he has a few more to fall back on until the desperate hunger subsides. If it does.

 

"Whoa! Are those guns?!" Glenn exclaims, focusing on the duffel from the King County Sheriff's Department with the rifle barrels exposed.

 

Merle snorts, "It don't matter if he's got a line of strippers and a gaggle of coke in that bag, he's a fucking _fanger_ man! Ain't nothing right or natural about that!"

 

His bigotry and racism is ignored. Glenn waits for an explanation as Rick opens up a second pack of blood to drink. He feels rude not talking to him but he is just so damned hungry. While human, he had to deal with a few vampires blinded by bloodlust and he experienced a mild version of it in his first night with Morgan. It needs to be sated before the combination of the bleeds and his injuries make it worse.

 

"I guess...I'll, uh...leave you to it then. I need to talk to the others really quick, I'll be right back." Glenn pauses at the door before exiting, looking back at Rick who is descending another flight of stairs to avoid further injury, "Ah, don't eat Merle, please."

 

He disappears outside quickly, leaving Rick alone with Merle. The ex-cop listens to the redneck mutter to himself, discriminatory remarks about vampers, chinks, niggers, and spics all working together like some sort of conspiracy. Rick finishes up a third pint before feeling comfortable enough to trust himself with the bound man, Making sure that no blood escaped his lips during his feeding, he retracts his fangs and approaches him. Merle looks up at him in the purest form of disdain that Rick has ever seen from another person.

 

And it is directed to him, just for what he is.

 

"I never understood your kind."

 

Merle gives him the stink-eye but says nothing.

 

"People who can hate so freely just because of what someone is. You would probably rather die than let a _fanger_ help you, starve rather than eat with a _chink_ \---"

 

"Screw you, man."

 

"---shake hands with a _nigger_ , or be civil with a _spic_." the derogatory slurs are foreign in Rick's mouth but he rolls with it with every intent of putting this redneck ass into place, "I have been a vampire for _three nights_. I don't know how or why this happened to me. I wasn't exactly _consulted_ but I'm not letting it slow me down. If death can't stop me, what makes you think you can?"

 

Merle spits at him, "Well, screw you twice."

 

Rick wants to try again, to get through his thick skull, but the opening of the door causes him to growl and back away.

 

Glenn enters with an apology, leading the others back inside the stairwell with his flashlight on.

 

"See, guys. I told you he'd still be alive." he jibes with a laugh that betrays his confidence.

 

The rest of the group obviously isn't completely convinced.

 

Rick isn't either, but they don't have to know that.

 

"Well, I guess introductions are in order. Guys, this is Rick Grimes." Rick raises a hand in greeting, "Rick, this is Andrea, Jacqui, T-Dog, Morales, and you've already met Merle."

 

Merle flips him the bird.

 

The blonde, Andrea, is the first among them to speak up, "So...it's true, then? You're a vampire and you're not infected?"

 

Again, Rick lifts up his shirt to reveal his chest. Andrea nods, convinced that he is clean but obviously not so much of his trustworthiness. That's fine, he can't expect everyone to outright trust him but at least most of these people aren't racist. He doesn't know what Glenn told them but he is thankful nonetheless. Surely if they will give him a chance then Lori will too.

 

"So, Rick. We have to figure out how to get him to camp."

 

Glenn's comment is met with three people talking over one another.

 

Rick: "I have an idea."

 

Morales: "You got a coffin?"

 

Merle: "Ain't no way I'm letting a fucking fanger come back to camp!"

 

Needless to say, Merle is ignored once again.

 

"I don't have a coffin." Rick answers, "But I've got an idea. I am _invisible_ to walkers. I can leave here at night, undetected."

 

"Morales has a point, though. There is no cover for you at camp. The RV isn't exactly sun-proof." Andrea explains, crossing her arms.

 

Merle explodes into a fit of rage, yanking at the cuffs and kicking out, "No! I'll kill you before I let you come back with us, you son of a bitch!"

 

His outburst earns distasteful looks from everyone.

 

"Come on, guys. Can't think straight, listening to this idiot." T-Dog says, leading the rest of them back downstairs.

 

Merle screams but it is eventually drowned out when they enter back into the first floor.

 

Glenn pauses as he walks by Rick, wincing sympathetically, "You've, uh...got the bleeds, man."

 

Crap. Drinking that blood must not have staved it off. Rick snatches a tee shirt from a hanger and wipes his face, staining the garment with crimson. He joins everyone in the back of the store, where they are gathered in a loose circle. The shirt is still clutched in his hand, ready to clean of more blood when necessary.

 

"So, you really are invisible to them?" Jacqui asks, wide eyed in wonder.

 

The rest of the group appear to be curious about that point as well.

 

"Yes. I found out back home in King County, after I woke up. It's like I'm not even there." Rick elaborates and it's like a light bulb goes off in everyone's heads.

 

"You can go on runs." Andrea voices their thoughts in amazement.

 

"Yes. I'll do anything, just help me get back to my wife and son."

 

The group is smiling, a combination of seeing a family reunited and of the benefits of having a vampire in the group.

 

"What about the Dixons?" Morales cuts in, the voice of reason.

 

It's like a bucket of cold water but he has a valid point.

 

That isn't what Rick thinks of, though.

 

"Dixon _s_?"

 

 _Plural_. Holy shit, there are two of them?

 

"I don't know, man. Merle kind of cancels out Daryl, which isn't saying much to begin with. I say the vampire is more useful than both of them combined, so if they got a problem with it, they can just leave." T-Dog declares, earning a series of agreements from everyone else.

 

"They're brothers." Andrea clarifies upon seeing the look on Rick's face.

 

"Okay, so the Dixons can just leave if they don't like it. Rick can come back at night but either we all wait until dark to head back or we split up. Some can head back and the rest can wait." Glenn pipes up.

 

It is at this point that they begin discussing plans on what to do. The sun is still high in the sky and Rick continues to wipe blood away from his face. Everyone is eager to get back to camp, especially those with families like Andrea, Morales, and now Rick. Merle and Daryl are but an inconvenience in the back of their minds. One that Rick isn't the least bit concerned about.

 

"What about the sewers?" Jacqui suggests amidst the brainstorming.

 

Her idea is clever but not exactly pleasant.

 

"They won't get us back to the quarry, but---"

 

A gunshot ringing through the department store cuts her off. While everyone else shouts in surprise and ducks for cover, Rick screams in agony, head whipping back with the force of a bullet and his body collapses to the floor. The shots continue, bullets ricocheting off of metal clothes racks and displays. Just when it seems like the assault is over, it continues and the horrific sound of shattering glass from the front alerts everyone that the doors and windows have been destroyed. The groans of walkers outside are unobstructed over the ringing of their ears, with the horrific realization that nothing stands between them and the dead.

 

Rick can feel the jacketed bullet in his head, it hurts, and it _infuriates_ him. He recovers from the shock fast enough to see Merle disappear up the stairwell and he runs after him with his fangs extended. The closed stairwell door is a minor obstacle, one that Rick tears through with a vengeance fueled by bloodlust. He catches up to the redneck on the second floor of the department store where he tackles him and yanks the Browning from bloody hands. The son of a bitch must have broken his hand in order to escape.

Rick will not allow him to get the jump on them again. With an animalistic snarl, he subdues Merle and forcibly exposes his neck and, without any concern or concept, digs right in to his flesh and moans at the taste of fresh blood. It cascades over his tongue and the sensation is downright erotic, save for the strange, almost bitter and numbing hint of some kind of drug. He remembers how it tasted from Morgan and this is nothing like the that. It is so much _different_.

 

Merle tries to fight him off, screaming in panic and anger. He is no match for Rick, who doesn't even feel it when the bullet is expelled from his body from his fast healing. Merle gradually weakens until he is no longer struggling, no longer cursing, no longer moving. His blood flow slows, coming to a near stop and it is only then when Rick pulls back, groaning obscenely and lapping at his lips. The wounds in his head and on his body are healed and he wants _more_.

 

That is, until Glenn and the others burst into the room, coming to a stop at the grisly sight with some chilling news.

 

"Rick! The geeks! They're inside!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, let me know what you think! I will try to update 'Wild' next and then 'Savin' Me' and just keep going between the three fics. Just so you guys know, I am hardcore resisting starting up even MORE fics. Specifically, a Destiel (Supernatural) and possibly a Sharyl where Daryl is actually Murphy MacManus. Because, reasons.
> 
> I did change what happens to Merle. Again, cause and effect. As likely as I can see him cutting his hand off, I can also see him simply breaking said hand and slipping it free.
> 
> Oh, and on a side note: in True Blood, vampires can only be killed by wooden stakes, wooden bullets, or sunlight (or a combination thereof, as seen in UV bullets). Silver sort of poisons them and can be used to restrain them but regular bullets hurt, not kill. 
> 
> If you have any questions, ask away in the comments!


	7. And The Bright Light Of Salvation Shines In Dark And Empty Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick is reunited with his family and receives a rude awakening. Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay you guys, I KNOW that I said 'Savin' Me' would be the next one updated but I am just in love with this fic. :x
> 
> Also, omgwtfbbq this passed episode was fucking awesome. In The Talking Dead, the host recommended that someone play the Benny Hill music with the chase scene in the field. The next day there were two. I have seriously watched it like fifty million times.  
> Here it is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ok9x4-lx9lo
> 
> Be prepared for the longest chapter thus far. I knew where I wanted it to end and by hell, I was not going to stop until I got there.
> 
> Chapter title is from the song, 'Death is Not the End', by: Bob Dylan. The title of the song is originally what the title of this fic was and I really felt like this particular lyric fit this chapter wonderfully.
> 
> I have an interested beta but I got impatient and went on and posted the chapter. :x
> 
> A few things.  
> One: I imagine the store as being dark up to near the windows. Like, say, the windows are only in the front of the store and the back is pitch black.  
> Two: I am not from Atlanta, I live five hours away, but I have only traveled through. So I had to use Google maps to figure out locations and street names. According to where the department store scene was filmed (The Norfolk Southern Building) so I used that address. If I get something wrong, I apologize.  
> Three: I am also not in the medical field nor familiar with hospital layouts. I have a cousin who is a phlebotomist and he has worked at two hospitals. In both, the Emergency Rooms are on the ground floor. Which makes complete sense. And he said the blood banks are typically nearby. If I get something wrong again, I apologize again.  
> Four: I do not know CB radio lingo. I would assume that Rick, being an ex-cop, would have the mannerisms ingrained into his mind and thus, uses them. At least, uses them to the best of my abilities.  
> Five: I wanted to include the whole 'wear walker guts to sneak by them' thing, but I didn't know where I wanted to include it. So I didn't.  
> Six: For the department store I brainstormed what a bid, deluxe, multi-whatever department store would have in regards to floors. I figured: Women, Men, Kids, Outdoors, Furniture, Electronics, and Employee. Don't judge. :P
> 
> I own nothing, this is a work of fiction, I have changed things to suit my needs and I do hope you guys enjoy the results.
> 
> I also included some useless trivia in the end notes.
> 
> AND, I tried to give all of the minor characters some screen time. I hope that it doesn't sound forced. I love Jacqui, especially when she refers to Merle as a cracker. Which I used. Which I do NOT use in real life.

"Run! Go! Get to the roof, I'll hold them off!" Rick screams, pushing by Glenn to enter the stairwell.

  
  
He can hear the flurry of movement as the others ascend, feet thumping in their haste to get away from the danger below. Glenn brings up the rear, stopping one flight up to help if needed. They wait out the pounding on the ground floor door until one of the walkers manage to press on the push-bar to unlatch and open the door with their sheer weight. Walkers pour into the stairwell, quickly filling the landing and stumbling up the stairs in the direction of their prey. Rick draws his Python and takes out the first six with ease.

  
  
By this time, the flood is upon him and he takes to smashing their heads in on the concrete walls. It is a disgusting feeling, rotted flesh and brittle skull giving away under his hands under the power of his new strength. The method is slow going, though, and he has to work hard through his lack of sleep and weariness. As the number of walkers increase, Rick takes to pushing some down the stairs to slow the swarm's progression.

  
  
He tires faster than he should and begins to wonder if this was even a good idea to start with.

  
  
"Rick! Catch!"

  
  
He turns just in time to catch a fire extinguisher that Glenn hurls his way and proceeds to use it to bash some heads in. Walker corpses begin piling up, toppling to the landing below in a heap of gore. It adds a barrier against the others, an obstacle for them to trip over and thinning out the wave. They keep coming, one right after another around the corner, and Rick dispatches them just as quickly. Jesus Christ, is every walker in the city coming through that door?

  
  
He doesn't know how many he takes down, can't stop to admire the disgusting pile of carrion littering the hall, or how much time is passing by. It feels like it's only been mere seconds but he knows that can't be so. He is beginning to feel fatigued, _hungry_ again, and the bleeds are hitting him worse than ever as it drips in rivulets down his smooth face. It tickles, multiplying his frustration from running on fumes, and further fuels the vehemence and desperation he feels to keep these people safe. To follow them to their camp so that he may see his family again.

  
  
Rick roars at the next walker that he takes out. There has to be well over one hundred corpses at his feet by now and still they keep coming. He tries not to let himself feel the anger, the despondency, the _hunger_. He can't let any of that overwhelm him or he puts them all at risk. It just takes one mistake...

  
  
An idea hits him all of a sudden and with a possible end in sight comes a renewed vigor. Rather than focusing on dropping the bodies, Rick instead tries to force through and push the group back. Using the fire extinguisher as a barrier and ever careful not to get their tainted blood near any orifices, he manages down the flight and to the first floor. It's a bloodbath, the floor slippery with blood and brain. A few more steps over the downed bodies and he makes it to the door leading out to the store.

  
  
The corpses have to be moved, simultaneously while trying to keep more walkers from entering, Rick blocks the doorway, pushing and pulling and swinging, straining with his alarmingly waning strength. He starts at the body that appears from behind, Glenn rushing in to help. The kid takes over moving the bodies while Rick keeps the walkers at bay through the door, both ultimately working on getting the door closed. The catch of the latch goes unheard between the two men under the sounds of pounding from the other side, of the buzzing in their own heads from the exertion.

  
  
"Pile the bodies up." Rick growls, "Barricade the door."

  
  
Glenn starts first, the vampire not willing to risk their progress by moving from his position. One walker getting lucky with the handle and they will be swarmed again. Rick does help when he can, grabbing the cadavers within range to pile against the door. Soon he feels safe enough to step away, to aid Glenn in the disgusting task of making a wall of bodies. The pile grows in mass, nearly to the ceiling and reaching out to bury the first couple of steps leading up.

  
  
Nothing is getting through that door.

  
  
"I need..." Rick starts, blinking away the discomfort that he feels deep in his very core, trying to clear his mind, "...I need to feed...I'm not..."

  
  
He doesn't need to finish. Even though the human is just as tired, just as filthy, Glenn stumbles up the stairs to where his abandoned duffels and cooler lay by the roof exit. He doesn't have to wait long. Glenn comes barreling back down, nearly tripping in his haste, with the prized cooler of blood clutched tightly in a white-knuckled fist. Rick snatches it away, rips it open, and digs is fangs into the thick plastic of a blood bag.

  
  
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  
  
Rick tosses the empty containers onto the floor, uncaring of the garbage. Not like it makes a difference, the floor is already disgusting. He still isn't sated and stares forlornly inside of the cooler. There are only three pints of blood left and he wants more, God does he want _more_ , but he needs to conserve. Now more than ever.

  
  
Perhaps make a trip to one of the hospitals in the city before he goes back to his  family?

  
  
"Are you okay now?" Glenn asks warily.

  
  
Rick nods, "I just need to clean off.:"

  
  
"You and me, both."

  
  
They share a moment of silence, the flashlight illuminating their weary expressions.

  
  
"You saved our lives." Glenn says after a bit, "Thank you."

  
  
Rick regards him, this unexpected twist of fate that introduced them, that set him on the right path of being reunited with his family.

  
  
"Don't thank me, yet. We've still got to get out of here." he tells him, grabbing the cooler and heading up the stairs.

  
  
Glenn walks beside him and Rick takes a moment to evaluate the situation and come up with a plan of action. He can't go out in the sunlight but it's not as safe for the humans to go out after dark. Even then, if what Jacqui and Andrea said is of any consideration, he will need something sun-proof to sleep in back at the camp. If they can find something in the city, a coffin retailer or a truck; if they do locate a coffin, he will need something to transport it in anyway. It seems like a truck is his best bet.

  
  
"Wait here." Glenn instructs uselessly before he exits through the door to the roof.

  
  
Rick waits for him with his luggage and continues brainstorming. If they can wait until nightfall, he can venture out into the streets and find a truck. Maybe even stop by a hospital for more blood. He can drive the truck back, pick everyone up, and drive them back to their camp, wherever that is. Doing so, he will also have a safe place to rest, if the truck bed is completely boxed in.

  
  
At this time, Glenn enters back into the stairwell with the group in tow. They surround Rick, flooding him with kindness and amazement. He is still very conscious of his gory appearance, the evidence of his bleeds disguised by the blood from his kills. As the praise dwindles down, Rick finalizes the plan in his mind to present to the others. He draws their attention, waiting for their silence before speaking.

  
  
"I've got an idea on how to get us out of here. All of us."

  
  
They're all ears, now.

  
  
"If we can wait until nightfall, I'll go out and find a truck. A box truck. I've got to refill my blood supply but after that, I can come back and pick you guys up. This department store should have a loading bay and if it's clear then I can pick you up there. The truck will be perfect to haul everyone back with and I can rest in the cargo bed during the day. How far away is your camp?"

  
  
All eyes turn to Glenn, who fumbles a moment before answering, "It's, uh, just outside of the city. Near I85."

  
  
Rick huffs a laugh; he very well may have passed them right up on his way into town.

  
  
"...but that's not really the problem." Glenn continues, "In order to get to the loading bay, we have to go through the first floor. Which is overrun by geeks."

  
  
Rick blinks at him.

  
  
"I know this city like the back of my hand. It's why I'm usually the only one to go out on runs. Less people, less likely to get noticed. This isn't the first time that I've been in here. I just found enough supplies for camp and figured more arms, more stuff we can take back at once."

  
  
"Would've been fine if not for Dixon." T-Dog grumbles.

  
  
"We're still going to be fine." Rick declares, "I'm sure that I can find a truck big enough to haul back whatever you need. You guys can be getting that ready while I'm out."

  
  
"What about the first floor? We're not exactly invisible to the geeks, too." Andrea cuts in, reminding everyone of the problem at hand.

  
  
"We can distract them." Glenn says without missing a beat.

  
  
All five pairs of eyes fall on him and he withers at the weight of the implications.

  
  
"Oh, crap."

  
  
"You say you know your way around? Where the blockades are set up, where the alleys go, which streets are connected?" Rick presses him and he nods, licking his lips, "Then we'll find you a car. A fast one, so that you can get away if you need to. A loud one, to grab the walkers' attention."

  
  
It's like a light bulb being turned on in everyone's minds as the plan comes together.

  
  
"I'll get the blood that I need first and then signal to you once I find you a car. You can pull up in front of the store, round the walkers up, and lead them away."

  
  
"How are you so sure that they will follow so easily?" Andrea asks, considering the possibility.

  
  
"I did something similar back home, to lead a herd away from where a friend was staying. It will work."

  
  
Everyone looks back at Glenn, who ultimately has the final say. The young man takes in their expressions, feels their anticipation, and he groans as he links his  fingers behind his covered head, giving his consent. Relief and admiration wash over them, over Rick especially, who already owes these people so much, yet here they are, ready to risk their lives to work with him. Though, he knows that he, himself, will become an invaluable asset for them, too, if he starts going out on runs. He will make sure that they never need for anything.

  
  
"We should radio the camp. Let them know that there's been a holdup and that we won't be able to make it back until later." T-Dog states, holding up a nondescript radio and shaking it.

  
  
"Alright." Rick says, feeling good about their plan, "You head to the roof and try to reach them. The rest of us will search each floor for supplies, together. T-Dog, join back up with us whenever you reach your camp."

  
  
No one questions his step up to lead, having seen just how capable he is with the responsibility. As T-Dog goes outside, Rick and the others enter the seventh floor. They fan out, searching through various offices, a break room, and a conference room. A large wall of employee lockers is a bust and some of the desks harbor useful items such as a flashlight and a few lighters stashed away with cigarettes. The latter gets left behind.

  
  
All in all, Glenn was right. With the five of them searching, they come out with a decent haul. A few tools, such as a hammer and a couple of screwdrivers and even some over-the-counter drugs. In the break room they find some food: canned goods, dehydrated noodles, protein bars, and bottles of water. Andrea and Jacqui covet a few rogue tampons and toilet paper is definitely a must.

  
  
Their spoils are piled up in the stairway landing, out of the way in case of a hasty retreat, and they enter into what can easily be identified as the most important floor: outdoors. The group spends most of their time in here, babes in a toy store as they scour the aisles for essentials. A few tents are grabbed for backup as well as some sleeping bags, survival and camping kits, more tools, knives, and fishing line. They retrieve a few rifles and ammo as well as a few sturdy backpacks. Rick nods at Andrea when he notices her eyeing a section of bows and arrows.

  
  
"Can you use one of those?"

  
  
His question brings her back from wherever her mind was and she blinks at him, startled, before releasing a tense laugh.

  
  
"God, no. I was just thinking...about Daryl."

  
  
Ah, Daryl Dixon.

  
  
Rick strides up, resisting the urge to rest a calming hand on her thin shoulder since it is still covered in dry walker blood, "I won't let him do anything. To any of you. You have my word."

  
  
Andrea nods, chewing her lip, but says nothing else.

  
  
The sixth floor, with its bountiful harvest, makes up for what the fifth and fourth floors lack. There isn't much that can be used out of appliances, electronics, and entertainment, though they do clear off an entire display of batteries. It is at this time that T-Dog meets back up with them in the stairwell with news that he is unable to get a good signal on the radio. With the light outside getting darker and darker through the windows, Rick lets him take his place so that he may prepare for his solo run that will ultimately reunite him with his family. His excitement is palpable, he is nearly shaking from the intensity of it all.

  
  
That, or the bleeds; he's not slept in over twenty four hours.

  
  
He intercepts the group to go over the plan one last time.

  
  
"You guys keep looking. Pack everything up, get it all in one spot near the first floor. You're going to have to clear the corpses from the door but leave enough to keep it blocked, just in case. At least until Glenn pulls them away."

  
  
"There's actually another way though besides that door, but we still need the ground floor clear." Glenn informs him.

  
  
"Right, that's even better. Get everything ready right there. Once I get the blood and find a couple of vehicles that suit our needs, I'll grab a truck and head back to get Glenn."

  
  
At the same time Rick is speaking, he is opening a dual-pack of walkie talkies and fitting them with batteries.

  
  
"I will call to you when I pull up to the fire escape and you are going to climb aboard."

  
  
"Why not cut some corners and pick us all up from there, too?" T-Dog cuts in and Rick goes on, having already thought about that strategy.

  
  
"We've got those supplies to take back. I can't have one of you slipping and falling. At the loading bay, the truck will only be a step away from the ledge. There's less of a risk of an accident." Rick gets right back on track, passing a walkie over to Glenn, "Before you leave, tell them how to get to the bay and give this to them so that they will know when I am outside and ready. Then, you are going to drive. Your goal is to lead the walkers away but above all else, be careful. I'll get everyone loaded up and then meet you back at the camp."

  
  
Everyone is nodding as the plan is laid out and it is Morales' voice that scrambles them into motion, "Alright, guys. Let's do this."

  
  
"Good luck and for God's sake, be careful. Use the guns if you have to. But _only_ if you have to."

  
  
The group gives him their affirmation and Rick grabs his cooler, entering into the second floor with every intention of exiting through the very same fire escape that he will meet Glenn at. As he passes by rack after rack of baby and toddler clothes, a sudden wrongness strikes him, an empty place on the tiled floor where Merle Dixon's body should be. He is gone, leaving behind just a few droplets of blood from where Rick bit him. Son of a bitch, he's gone. Rick thought he'd killed him but no, he's just _gone_.

  
  
He doesn't have time to worry about it. There is no telling how long it is going to take him to find the two vehicles that he needs, run to the hospital, get back, and get to the camp before sunrise. And that is if his plan goes without hitch. Merle will have to wait, he will just have to tell the others to be on alert.

  
  
It takes Glenn a moment to answer him on the walkie.

  
  
"You're not here already, are you?"

  
  
"No." Rick pauses the conversation when he jumps from the fire escape to the asphalt below, "Merle isn't dead. I don't know where he went, so just keep an eye out. Over."

  
  
"Oh, God, alright. Thanks."

  
  
Rick runs down the alleyway, drawing the curiosity of only a couple of walkers. Think, think, think! Where is the nearest hospital? He wracks his brain for the answer that he knows, remembering even before he steps foot onto Peachtree Street. It's Emory University Hospital Midtown, about a mile to the south.

  
  
Ignoring his body's protests, he books it into a full-fledged run. Everything passes in a blur but he manages to keep a sharp eye out for potential vehicles. There are so many cars, abandoned where they were left, and some a little worse for wear, a couple of transit buses and even some military Humvees. He hurdles over a street barricade and arrives at the hospital in less than a minute.

  
  
It looks just as bad as every other building in Atlanta and even possesses some signs of vandalism. Of course the hospital would be a hotspot in the aftermath of such chaos. King County didn't even touch Atlanta's population. It may have already been raided, wiped clean of anything useful in the very beginning. Rick will just have to keep his fingers crossed.

  
  
Reminiscent of Harrison Memorial, bullet shells litter the ground but in a much larger magnitude. Rick is prepared for the gore that he finds inside; an entire lobby of people that were gunned down and left for the walkers to feed on. The bodies have been devoured down to their very bones and the floors painted with their leftovers. Bullet holes speckle the walls and the chairs of the lobby have been trashed, left in broken heaps of wood and cloth to rot away. Much like everything else that he's seen in Atlanta.

  
  
The hospital is a graveyard in it's own right, eerily quiet and stuffy despite the broken glass of the sliding doors. Blood storage should be near the ER, which is typically on the ground level. At least, that is how it was at Harrison. Surely most hospitals share a similar layout in that regard. It makes sense in Rick's mind.

  
  
He follows the signs that direct him to the ER and he has to force himself to ignore the macabre around him. Something cracks under his boots with each step but he can't bring himself to look down. The darkness is stifling the deeper he goes, like hot tendrils wrapping themselves around his throat and sucking the essence right out of him. Is this how vampires feel fear? Is it his own body working against him, desperate for blood, or sleep?

  
  
He can't stop, can't let whatever this is consume him. Not when he is so close to Lori and Carl. He's got to be _strong_ , be better than his instincts. _Protect_ them. Especially from himself.

  
  
Pushing down everything that his body is telling him that it wants, Rick nearly misses a set of doors that are identified as leading to a lab. They are ajar, already broken in to, and for a moment he feels like this is going to be a bust. Before the thought can hit him too hard, he suppresses it, along with everything else. No, the blood may still be safe. Maybe whoever broke in was just looking for drugs, found none, and left.

  
  
Equipment of all kinds lay trashed in the floor, wires and cables jutting out like skeletal arms begging for salvation. Three bodies dressed in dingy lab coats lay face down in pools of dry blood with bullet holes littering their backs. More evidence of gunfire line the far wall in clusters, much like in the lobby, evidence that whoever did the shooting was tactical with their objective. What happened here was not self defense. This was a massacre.

  
  
Sidestepping an overturned chair, Rick does his best to avoid the carnage and rounds a corner, stopping dead in his tracks.

  
  
"Oh, no."

  
  
The door to the blood bank stands wide open, spoiling the contents inside. Mouth agape, mind a whirlwind of uncertainty, Rick stumbles toward it. The odds are against him, he knows it, but he has to check for himself. The storage room is the same temperature as the rest of the hospital: humid and tepid. Most of the units of blood are missing, all but a few packs, and those remaining are warm.

  
  
In a fit of rage, he draws back and punches the door, shattering the glass and sending the frame back to bounce against the wall. He knows that there are other hospitals in Atlanta but what's to say that they've not suffered the same fate? Even then, the blood won't be good for long. He's got to find a more permanent solution to his problem. Perhaps a human, maybe Lori, will allow him to feed from them...

  
  
No, no, he can't ask someone to do that for him. Glenn said that the group has a camp outside of town. Maybe it's an actual camp, complete with wilderness and wildlife. A deer has, what, several pints of blood? A fresh kill every night may be enough to sate him.

  
  
At least for a while, until he can come up with a better idea, and use his last three packs sparingly.

  
  
Regaining his composure, Rick leaves the hospital to scout for the vehicles that suit their needs. Cars are in abundance and walkers ignore him when he stops to look over a couple of box trucks. Few and far in between, one is trapped in traffic and the other has no dividing wall between the front and back. He finally lucks out near a furniture store on Courtland Street, just a couple of blocks away from the hospital.

  
  
The doors are unlocked and the keys stowed away beneath the driver's seat, something that he has chastised many  people for back in the day bout thanking God for at this very moment. The keys go into the safety of his pocket as he checks the back, pleased that it is empty save for a dolly. Plenty of room and hell, the dolly may come in handy too. Rick lowers the door and climbs back into the cabin, securing his precious cooler in between the driver and passenger seats. Buckling up, he inserts the key into the ignition and prays.

  
  
Time for the moment of truth.

  
  
The truck sputters to life and a smile brightens his features. The gas hand indicates that it has just shy of a quarter tank, surely that will get them to the camp. Putting the truck into gear, he pulls out onto the deserted road and travels north. A few walkers are attracted to the noise of the truck, unable to keep up with its speed as Rick searches for a connecting street to Peachtree that isn't barricaded. It doesn't take long and he travels in the wrong direction down a one-way side street before pulling back onto Peachtree, having to backtrack to the store where the others await.

  
  
He has to stop and clear one roadblock, eyeing the walkers approaching the truck. The largest part of them are still a few yards away, with some individuals meandering closer from a jumble of abandoned cars. They pose no threat to Rick, merely background noise to drown out the low rumble of the idling truck. He should be able to gain some distance on them again before he gets back to the store. With a final grunt, the last of the blockades are cleared and he hops back into the truck, whipping out the walkie as he puts it back into gear.

  
  
"Glenn, do you read me? Over."

  
  
It takes a few seconds to get anything back but when he does, the voice is anxious, "Rick? Yeah, are you here?"

  
  
There is a pause and then, "Uh, over?"

  
  
"Get to the fire escape, I've got a tail not  far behind me. We won't have long for you to get in without trouble. Have everyone finish up and get ready to make a run for the loading bay. And don't forget to hand over your radio. Over and out."

  
  
"I'll be there. Over."

  
  
Rick jams the walkie under his right leg in the seat for the time being to keep it safe. He rounds the corner to the side road of their rendezvous point, parking the truck near the descending ladder. Only a couple of walkers are lingering and Rick charges the nearest one, grabbing it by the collar of it's shirt and ramming it into the brick wall. As he smashes its head he can hear Glenn above, pounding across the grates of the fire escape, the beam of his flashlight whipping frantically across the ground as he runs with it. Rick goes on to kill the second walker in a similar fashion just as Glenn reaches him.

  
  
"Let's go."

  
  
The two hop into the cab of the truck and Rick takes off, spotting the loading bay doors as they round a corner.

  
  
They pull back onto Peachtree and Glenn reaches out to him, "Wait! Stop! That one!"

  
  
Rick follows his gaze, eyes catching on the beautiful red paint of a hotrod parked on the side of the road.

  
  
He raises an eyebrow, "Got a thing for Challengers?"

  
  
"Dude, I've got a thing for Breaking Bad."

  
  
Once the truck stops, the two men get out and clear the walkers near the prized car. Glenn is first to reach it and he tries the handle on the driver's side, only to find it locked. Rick tries the passenger, with the same results, and joins him on the other side. A look passes between them and Glenn frowns, wincing as Rick uses the butt of his revolver to knock out the window. The alarm blares and they know that they don't have much time before they are overrun.

  
  
Rick does a quick once-over for keys and, upon finding none, sets to work on hot-wiring it. It takes a couple of tries but the engine purrs when it starts. Pushing the glass shards into the floorboard, Glenn takes a seat and shuts the door. He takes a second to appreciate the interior of the car that, before the outbreak, he probably never would have even been able to touch. Rick's face is lit up by the pale green light from the dash meters when he pokes his head in through the window.

  
  
"Don't get carried away! Remember, you're bait! Don't let them get too close and don't get too far away that you lose their interest! Round them up around the store and _go_! On the first stretch you get out of the city, book it! You'll lose them! We'll meet you back at the camp!" he all but screams over the shrill of the alarm, " _And be careful_!"

  
  
"Thanks! You too!"

  
  
Glenn doesn't give him the chance to say anything else, pulling out onto the street just as the walkers catch up. They bypass Rick, going straight for the louder noise of the Challenger, and Glenn follows his directions to a T. Red tail lights illuminate the otherwise abandoned street, silhouetting the walkers like something surreal. Rick watches as he breaks away from them near the front of the store and revs the engine, honking the horn for good measure to lure out the walkers that are keeping the others from the loading bay. As if he needs anymore racket.

  
  
Walkers trickle out from the broken doors and Glenn eases up, not allowing them to get dangerously close. Satisfied that he has his part under control, Rick gets back into the truck and  comes up behind them, detouring around to where he spotted the tell-tale metal doors. He has never driven a large truck before, much less in reverse, so it takes him a couple of attempts to back it up to where it needs to be. From the sounds of it, Glenn is still rounding up walkers in the front so he cuts the engine and waits. Best to not use up the gas heedlessly.

  
  
"This is Rick. Come in. Over." he speaks into the walkie.

  
  
Morales is who answers and he hears a strange sort of echo from the car alarm.

  
  
"Go on, Rick. We hear you loud and clear."

  
  
"Did you guys get what you needed?"

  
  
May as well drop the CB lingo.

  
  
"Mostly, yeah. We're carrying everything down to the ground floor."

  
  
"Good. Have you seen Merle?"

  
  
"No. Good riddance, if you ask me."

  
  
He may be sure that they won't see the missing man again, but Rick never has liked loose ends, especially if they can come back to kick him in the ass.

  
  
"We're not out of the woods yet. Don't let your guard down." he tells him, looking out through the windshield as an afterthought.

  
"Will do. We're all set in here." Morales replies after a moment.

  
  
"Stand by."

  
  
Rick holds on to the walkie and listens, concentrating on the noise of Glenn's distraction to find out where the younger man is. It's a bit hard to decipher, the sounds reverberating through the maze of steel and glass, but he manages. He can tell when Glenn is on the move again and waits until he sees the Challenger ease by the mouth of the street before making his move. Throwing open the door, he hops out and rushes to the back to lift the back door of the truck up. It takes some effort and more noise then he'd like to do the same to the bay doors, being on the wrong side of them, but his waning vampiric strength makes it easier.

  
  
"We're ready. Be careful crossing the ground floor, just in case we've got some stragglers. I'm going to wait by the truck." he announces into the walkie.

  
  
"On our way."

  
  
The radio goes quiet and Rick stands there, waiting for the group to pass through the lion's den and praying that everyone makes it unscathed. All he hears is Glenn's car alarm not too far in the distance and he watches as a few walkers pass his street, every bit as intent on the noise as their predecessors. As he lingers, his mind wanders, and he feels it bubbling up in his chest at just how real everything is in this moment in time. He is going to reunite with Lori and Carl, has made some new friends, and managed to save their lives in the process. He smiles in the darkness.

  
  
A door opens behind him and Rick turns, knowing that it is the rest of the group before he even sees them. They are loaded with supplies, backpacks stretched to the limit with more supplies carried in their arms. T-Dog and Andrea carry weapons while Morales and Jacqui guide the way with flashlights. Rick takes some of the supplies as they near from Andrea and Jacqui, helping the ladies aboard and getting everyone settled in. He hands them his walkie and has Morales sit with him in front before closing the door back.

  
  
"Run into any trouble?" he asks the other man, starting the truck back up.

  
  
"Nothing we couldn't handle." Morales breathes, sighing, and then smiling, "I can't believe that worked."

  
  
Rick laughs with him, unwilling to share his self doubts and ruining the moment. They hear the others in the back thumping around, muffled laughs, and then the radio in Morales' hand crackles to life. Rick can't quite make out what everyone is saying but he can pick up their excitement, playful jeers, and terms of endearment. It is a cause for celebration, one that they can further acknowledge once they make it back to the camp, that everyone is alive and well. Until Morales brings Rick back to reality.

  
  
"What are we going to tell Daryl?"

  
  
Rick's smile fades.

  
  
"The truth. He'll just have to accept it."

  
  
"And if he doesn't?"

  
  
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

  
  
The cabin turns solemn after that, those in the back completely unaware of the storm clouds brewing in their minds. If this 'Daryl' is even remotely like his brother, this can't end well. At the very least, how can Rick bring himself to tell a man that he just met that he killed---wait, no, he didn't _kill_ him---his brother? He was damn near bled dry, he should be dead. He may still be, if he is wondering the streets in his condition. He may as well be dead.

  
  
Morales speaks up as they reach I85, giving Rick directions on how to reach the camp. They pass through what can only be identified as Glenn's herd of walkers, abandoned on the stretch of interstate and left to their own devices. Rick takes little care in driving through them, taking it slow and steady and crushing some beneath the tires as he drives on. He watches them through the mirrors as they disappear behind him, a threat thwarted and once again abandoned in the darkness. In front of them, the headlights brighten their way, more for Morales' benefit than his own, so that the other man can direct him on where to go.

  
  
Apparently, the group's campsite is located at an abandoned rock quarry. The closer that they get, the more nervous Rick becomes. All of his doubts, his fears, come rushing back with a vengeance. What if Lori won't accept him as a vampire? What if Carl fears him?

  
  
They pull onto a small road and terrain changes the further in they go. Boulders and rock walls make up most of the scenery with tree tops poking up from over a hill. Eventually the asphalt road gives way to gravel and lime dust, the stone thinning out to more trees and a gorgeous view of the Georgian wilderness with the Atlanta skyline barely visible. Nearing the pit of the quarry, the path leads them past a few turnoffs and right up to the group's campsite. Before the can even come to a stop, Rick and Morales can make out the frantic swishing of flashlights and raised, heated voices.

  
  
Both men share a look and Morales nods, placing a comforting hand on Rick's shoulder. As the other man gets out to join the fray, the ex-cop releases the passengers from the back of the truck. He stands back as loved ones are reconciled, searching the faces beyond for those of his own family. It doesn't take long to find them; Shane---he's here too?---is standing near Glenn with an angry look on his face and Lori stands back a ways behind him, holding Carl close. They are dressed in pajamas, as if having just rushed out of bed, and Rick feels his heart swell.

  
  
Amidst a myriad of questions and concerns, he focuses on his wife and son, allowing his body to move on autopilot as he places one foot in front of the other, a timid pace, as if he is a man walking to the gallows. Conversations stop as he approaches, a few people inquiring as to his identity and others looking on in curiosity. Shane is the first to recognize him and he stands there, his face doing nothing to hide the shock at seeing his friend. As things quieten down, Lori looks up and the expression on her face is blank at first, then giving away to disbelief, shock, and confusion. Then Carl notices him and nothing has ever pulled Rick's heartstrings more than the wail that escapes his lips as he pulls from his mother's embrace  to charge at him.

  
  
"Dad!" he cries out and Rick meets him halfway, scooping his son up into a powerful hug.

  
  
"Carl..." he sobs, feeling the familiar tingle of tears in his eyes as a multitude of emotions overwhelm him.

  
  
"Rick..."

  
  
He catches Lori as she rushes up to them with his other arm, not caring about the dry walker guts that are still caked onto him. Lori trembles as she holds him and he kisses the top of her head, glancing up at Shane as his friend approaches. There is another expression on his old partner's face that he is unable to identify, but he ignores it to send a smile his way. Shane opens his mouth to say something to him right as the tears begin to fall and then suddenly he snaps it closed, taking a step back. That's right, they're not tears, they're _rivulets of blood_.

  
  
"Holy shit."

  
  
Lori pulls back at his tone questioningly, looking back up at Rick, and that is when he sees the change in his wife's eyes. She wrenches away, attempting to take Carl with her, but the child continues to hold on to his father. Rick's hands raise in a placating manner, trying to quell the storm before it can even begin. Luck is not on his side, though, when actual tears--- _human_ tears---fall from Lori's brown eyes. Her voice is in a near panic when she speaks.

  
  
"Carl, get away from him."

  
  
By now, what must be the entirety of the camp lingers around them, most looking confused while others are in shock, some even sharing in Lori's  condemnation. Carl regards his mother, picking up on her distress, before looking up at his father. He untangles himself from around Rick, not moving to step away or seeming afraid at all. In that moment, Rick feels a connection to his son unlike anything he has ever felt before and he knows, deep down, that the boy does not fear him or hate him. It gives him hope that Lori will too, with time.

  
  
"Carl, get away!" his wife shouts, snatching their son by his arm and maneuvering him behind her.

  
  
"Mom, what---"

  
  
"That is not your father!" she snaps, lip quivering in nostrils flaring.

  
  
Rick feels his heart shatter in front of his family, Shane, and the strangers around them.

  
  
"Now, hold on---"

  
  
Lori cuts Shane off as well, holding a hand out to keep him from approaching her, "No. You stay away from me. Both of you. Just..."

  
  
She can't finish, instead dragging her fingers through the strands of her loose hair.

  
  
"I...I can't. You're dead. You're _dead_."

  
  
With a protesting Carl in tow, she evades any and all attempts that anyone makes at her. She retreats to one of the tents, zipping up the mesh windows to block out any onlookers despite the warm, humid heat. Rick can't take his eyes off of where she disappeared to, his superhuman hearing picking up her quiet sobs and Carl's vain attempts to soothe her. A few people that Rick doesn't recognize retreat as well, sparing him nervous looks and concerned whispers. He wishes that he can't hear what they say.

  
  
Blood flows freely down his cheeks and his body begins to shake, the excitement of escaping Atlanta and being reunited with his family sapped right out of him.

  
  
"What a bitch."

  
  
The voice breaking through the night air is from the young blonde standing by Andrea's side and the other woman chides her quietly. Morales is speaking with whom Rick assumes is his wife in Spanish and he is unable to make out the conversation. Jacqui looks downright pissed, arms crossed and shaking her head, hell-bent on Lori's tent. Glenn and T-Dog act as if they witnessed something that they weren't supposed to, wide-eyed and  tight-lipped. Shane takes a step up to Rick and pulls him into a hug.

  
  
"It's good to see you again, brother."

  
  
The welcome is tense, how can it not be after all of that, but Rick returns the embrace with fervor.

  
  
There is so much that he wants to say, so much that he can't put into words, so he spouts the first thing that his addled brain can come up with, "Thank you for keeping them safe."

  
  
He hates how his voice sounds.

  
  
Shane pats him, pulling back, "Hey, man. Don't thank me for that. They're my family, too."

  
  
Rick is  glad that his friend is on his side.

  
  
An older man wearing a fisherman's hat clears his throat  as he approaches, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm going to be up for the rest of the night. You're welcome to join me by the fire."

  
  
With a rifle slung over his shoulder, the man retreats further into camp towards an RV, where the glowing embers of a small fire cast an inviting glow.

  
  
"Sorry, guys, but I'm beat. Have a good night." Morales speaks up and breaks away with his wife and two children.

  
  
"Us, too. Thanks again, Rick." Andrea says, walking up to the RV with the younger woman in tow, who glances back at Rick with sympathy.

  
  
In the end it's Rick, Shane, Glenn, T-Dog, Jacqui. and the old man who pleasantly introduces himself as Dale who stays up.

  
  
No one speaks about Lori but Shane does ask Rick about the events before arriving at camp. Rick tells them the story as far back as he remembers, about being out on a call with Shane and being shot. He describes the cold darkness of waking up underground. alone, with no rhyme or reason to how he ended up there or turned into a vampire. He recalls Morgan and Duane, of their willingness to help him, and the other man's brief instruction on what to expect out of his new life in this new world. He does, however, omit the feeling of ecstasy from drinking Morgan's blood.

  
  
Shane and Dale are especially interested in the walkers, or 'geeks' as they put it, "So it's not so scary for the children.", lack of interest in him and the helpful impact that it will have on the camp.

  
  
"So, what exactly happened to Merle Dixon?" Dale asks once the story is complete.

  
  
At the mention of the missing redneck, the Atlanta runners exchange a look of apprehension.

  
  
"He became dangerous. Attacked me outright---"

  
  
"Attacked me, too." T-Dog adds with Glenn and Jacqui backing him up.

  
  
"I subdued him. We took our eyes off of him just long enough for him to get the jump on us. Shot me, busted out the glass doors and allowed walkers entry to the building. Could have killed us all. I chased him down and..." Rick trails off, trying to be delicate with his next words.

  
  
"Hey." Jacqui gets his attention and he meets her eyes, still wide and intense with emotion, "Don't you feel bad, not one bit. You saved our lives. Cracker got what he deserved."

  
  
Her words don't make him feel any better.

  
  
"I was hurt, I was hungry, and I was angry. I chased him down and drained him."

  
  
Dale looks taken aback.

  
  
"Did you kill him?" the older man inquires with raised eyebrows.

  
  
Rick shakes his head, "I thought I did, but I didn't. I don't know where he is or what might have happened to him. I wouldn't have thought he'd have gotten far but I've not seen hide nor hair of him. His body was gone when I went back through."

  
  
"We pretty much cleared the whole store. I don't know where he could've gone." Glenn adds and T-Dog voices confirmation of the story as well.

  
  
"What are you going to tell Daryl when he gets back from his hunt?" Dale questions, looking at each of them when they don't answer.

  
  
"Who cares? Maybe he'll leave once and for all. Now that we've got Rick, we don't need either of them anymore. More trouble than they're worth." Shane snorts, poking a stick into the fire and avoiding the scandalized looks that Dale and Rick send his way.

  
  
"You can't mean that. That...that's..."

  
  
Rick doesn't want to make the accusation at his friend.

  
  
_It's inhumane..._

  
  
Knowing what he is thinking, Shane jumps to defend himself, "No, brother, listen. Hear me out. The Dixon's aren't good people. They're thugs, people you and me would've arrested back in the day. Most of the time they strut around camp, high as  a kite. Daryl hunts, I'll give him that, but him and his no good brother keep the lion's share for themselves. Above all else, though, they're racist sons of bitches and mean as snakes. About as trustworthy, too. Now, imagine what he's going to do when he gets back and finds out that a vampire left his brother for dead."

  
  
"You've still got to be tactful, though. When a doctor tells the family of a patient that their loved one has passed away, they usually show some compassion." Dale explains, wise in his years.

  
  
"Except this time, the doctor almost killed the patient himself and the patient ran away." T-Dog supplies helpfully.

  
  
Rick vaguely wonders where his stance is in all of this; he obviously shows no remorse for Merle's fate, either.

  
  
He sighs, standing, "Look, Dale's right. I want a chance to talk to Daryl myself before anyone tells him anything. If he comes back while I'm asleep, try to stall him until sunset. Preferably until after I feed. Let me explain what happened and why I did what I did and let him make a choice. Give him a chance to prove himself the better man instead of worrying about what he might not even do."

  
  
His suggestion seems to end the debate. Glenn agrees without hesitation and Jacqui follows suit, claiming that she _does_ like Daryl more and he is very easy on the eyes. Her comment is meant to lighten the mood, though it does nothing for how Rick still feels from Lori turning her back on him. T-Dog voices his trepidation about the redneck and his only concern is that their decision doesn't come back to bite them in the asses. Shane stares at Rick with a look that belies how he truly feels, contradicting his next words.

  
  
"Fine. But I will subdue him if I have to."

  
  
"Thank you, brother."

  
  
Shane rubs a hand through his curly hair, a tick that Rick knows all too well, "Sure thing, man."

  
  
Considering the topic closed, Rick moves on to preparation for a long day's rest, "Is there a place that I can wash off? Maybe borrow some clothes?"

 

  
"There's a body of water in the pit where we do laundry." Jacqui answers.

  
  
"I'll get you some clean clothes but they'll be too big for your skinny ass." Shane jibes, standing.

  
  
"You do that. I'm going to get _my_ skinny ass to bed." T-Dog says, stretching before mumbling a short good night.

  
  
Glenn is the next person to break away, gesturing to the truck, "I guess I'll unload everything."

  
  
"I'll help him. _You_ help _him_." Jacqui says, pointing to the younger ex-cop.

  
  
"I'll be on watch if you need me." Dale bids them and climbs a ladder to the top of the RV.

  
  
Rick and Shane are left below with the dying fire and Shane gestures for the other man to follow. He silently leads him to his own tent, where he rifles through  a tote. As he digs, Rick spares a glance to the tent that Lori and Carl disappeared into, feeling the pit in his stomach worsen. He sees no movement and hears nothing from that direction. Shane pulls him back by thrusting a pile of clothes and an unopened box of soap into his arms.

  
  
"What are you going to do about the sun?" he asks him.

  
  
"Hopefully the truck will be good enough."

  
  
"It's a good idea."

  
  
"Yeah."

  
  
There is a pause between them, an uncomfortable and tense silence.

 

  
"The lake's down that hill over there. Just lay your dirty clothes out by the truck, they'll get washed. Dale's on watch for the rest of the night. No offense, but I'm dead tired. Wasn't very pleasant waking up to that damn car alarm." Shane declares, a bit standoffish.

  
  
Rick doesn't know what else to say, other than, "Thank you. For everything."

  
  
"No problem. man. Go get cleaned up. Have a good night."

  
  
"Have a good day." Rick calls over his shoulder, walking in the direction that Shane gave him for the lake.

  
  
He passes Dale, who is reclined in a lawn chair and reading a book with a small book light. Glenn and Jacqui have most of the supplies transferred from the truck. They shine a flashlight in his direction as he passes and he waves, keeping his head down from the beam. The two get back to work and Rick continues towards the hill, descending the rocky slope carefully with ease. He can see everything clearly down in the pit, trying to imagine how beautiful the water would be in the sunlight.

  
  
The sunlight that he will never see again.

  
  
Confident in the cover of darkness, Rick strips down to nothing and wades into the cool water. It laps against his legs, rising to submerge his torso the further in he goes. Not wanting to go too deep, he stops where it just touches his clavicles and dunks himself to wet his hair. The dried walker blood and other...things...caked onto his skin melts off in a gooey mess, clouding the water in his vicinity a dark, murky color. More follows when he lathers himself up, scrubbing at his skin until it is free of filth.

  
  
His hair proves to be a bit more challenging.

  
  
Once satisfied with his cleanliness, he puts the fresh clothes on over his still-wet skin. He just wants to feed and sleep. Tomorrow night he can hunt down an animal to drain. Surely it won't be too hard to find if 'Daryl' is hunting the land. Gathering his dirty clothes and gun belt, he hikes back up the hill.

  
  
By now, twilight is upon him and with it comes the uncertainty of what will await him when he wakes back up. Maybe this confrontation with Daryl won't be so bad. Maybe Lori will be able to see passed _what_ he is and remember that she fell in love with _who_ he is. Maybe things will turn out okay. Maybe tomorrow night will be better.

  
  
Glenn and Jacqui are gone when he returns, the supplies laid out on the ground to be gone through when everyone can see. Rick retrieves his cooler from the truck cabin and stops short of just outside the cargo door. Someone laid out a couple of blankets and a pillow for him. It brings a tired smile to his face as he deposits his dirty clothes on the ground and climbs inside, closing the door behind him. With his gun belt pushed into one of the corners, Rick gets comfortable and finishes off the last three pints of blood that he has.

  
  
He lays there in the truck, his mess of thoughts apparently no match for his body's exhaustion. He has been awake for so long, fueled by what has felt like the bare minimum of blood that his body needs. Sleep overcomes him completely and wholly, the back of the truck serving his needs perfectly when the sun does manage to rise. There are no dreams, haven't been since he fell into a coma, so he finds it odd when he hears a scream that he doesn't recognize pierce through his pseudo-awareness, its agony detectable even in his state of semi-consciousness. It isn't until there is a loud series of bangs against the metal side of the truck that reverberates through its near-hollow interior that Rick realizes it's not at all in his head, that someone is actually screaming and beating on the truck from the outside.

  
  
His nose picks up a new aroma, one unlike anything that he has ever smelt before in life or death, and he takes a deep inhale of it, savoring it, almost _tasting_ it. It calls out to him, beckons him to investigate what it is and where it has come from. Instead of giving in to the self-destructive desire, he forces his body to relax, letting the scent soothe him and lull him back to sleep as his mind tries to imagine what it could be. The commotion from outside comes to an abrupt halt and a strange feeling of intoxication washes over him. It's as his mind is shutting down for unconsciousness, his body going slack, when he is finally able to pin something on to what he is smelling.

  
  
Light.

  
  
It smells like beautiful, glowing, warm light in an otherwise cold sea of hopelessness and despair.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it. Chapter seven and Daryl has technically come in. :P Let me know what you guys thing and I will get started on writing the next chapter.
> 
> D: I keep making edits to the tags and notes! But Lori's reactions. I don't like Lori but I don't HATE her. She doesn't like vampires and suddenly her dead husband comes back as one. I tried to make her reaction seem genuine.  
> Also, Rick isn't doing so hot because he has been awake for so long and he is burning through that energy that what blood he has consumed has given him.  
> Trivia:  
> *The toddler and baby area where Merle was (nearly) killed at pays a homage to Daryl. And I am also taking some liberties in medical impossibilities. Merle should probably be dead but...nobody can kill Merle but Merle, right?  
> *My dad used to store his keys beneath the driver's seat when he would get out of his vehicle. Very dumb habit, one that I am banking off of, that actually got his vehicle stolen once. He never did it again.  
> *Before I had this handy little place that my phone fits perfectly in my car, I would stick it under my leg like I have Rick do to the walkie.  
> *As I am sure everyone knows, the Challenger that Glenn drives out of Atlanta is, in fact, an Easter Egg referencing Breaking Bad. Why not have Glenn be a fan of that show and choose the car accordingly?  
> *The quarry that the group stays at in the show is the Westside Reservoir Park. Unfamiliar with the park, I used the layout of the rock quarry that my ex works at. It is really neat, the pit is amazing and when it DID have water it was the most beautiful aquamarine color. Goats and fish actually lived there.


	8. I'm Taking A Stand To Escape What's Inside Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick meets Daryl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me! I give you chapter eight. I have had such fun times since updating last. It's finally been warm enough to get my motorcycle out. It is seriously the best. I also got my tattoos all prettied up! I have black / white / gray angel wings tattooed on my upper back, down to about my elbows on my arms, and I went to a local award-winning artist to detail them up. T-T They are so pretty, I can't even.
> 
> Chapter title is from the song, 'Monster' by: Imagine Dragons.
> 
> I will also throw in a quick note / warning for this chapter: brutal killing of animals. I love all animals, I am actually a dog groomer, I never have and never will harm a single one nor do I approve of Rick's method of killing them. But he is a vampire and he is hungry, so. Don't brutally kill animals, folks! I also did some research when writing the chapter and I am PRETTY sure I read that on average, an adult coyote has about five pints of blood. I couldn't find the page that I read to double check this information, so I apologize if it is inaccurate.
> 
> I did some research as to what weapons the characters use, so I am about 98% sure that they are accurate. Same with Daryl's truck.
> 
> Also, with the crossbow being the only weapon in camp that can kill a vampire: the bolts are wooden. Like projectile stakes! :0
> 
> No beta, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Also, on a funny note: today really is my birthday and I typed this up during my party. About halfway through I set my laptop aside with my notebook inside and did some family stuff and when I came back I saw that the notebook had been pressed on my keys the whole time. I had the jibber-jabber counted and it was 31,698 characters of a combination of -, *, and 3. I was so tickled by it, I saved it in a document. I am weird.

Rick wakes up the next night feeling absolutely _famished_. It is the worst that it has ever been, making his mind dull and achy and his body tremor with withdrawals. His instincts tell him that it is night, time to get out and _feed_ , but he really doesn't want to leave the box truck and face what needs to be faced. He has to talk to Lori and calm her down, find a way to make her see that he is still himself. Daryl Dixon is also out there, if the pounding and screaming at the truck earlier is of any indication.

  
  
Thinking of the almost dreamlike instance reminds him of the scent he'd smelled and he goes on to wonder what it could have been. Was it Daryl himself, or something he'd brought back with him? Never in his existence has he encountered anything that smelled like it and it's ultimately the drive to find out what it is that has him untangling himself from his blankets. He will have to eat first, of course, and God only knows how long that will take. Slipping on his boots and socks, he takes a deep breath and rolls up the truck door.

  
  
That mysterious scent is still in the air, a but subdued by the odor of cooking fish. The supplies that were piled around the truck are gone and the camp is surprisingly busy, several people doing their part to wind things down for the night and preparing for dinner. A large fire roars in the center with a wall of rocks built around it to minimize the light. Everyone from the run to Atlanta is seated in a loose circle around it with the blonde from earlier beside Andrea, Morales' children, and a middle-aged woman with short-cropped hair and a distant look to her eye. Lori sits with Morales' wife, Carl, and a little girl around his age with short blonde hair.

  
  
Shane stands off to the side with a shotgun from the police bag, tense and agitated.

  
  
Rick approaches him, making sure to announce his presence with heavy footfalls.

  
  
"You alright?" he inquires, stopping beside him.

  
  
Shane is quiet, seething, and when he looks at him, Rick is taken aback by the bruised eye and split lip.

  
  
"No, I'm not alright. It's been a bad fucking day." the other man snips.

  
  
"What happened?"

  
  
"This morning, this douchebag in camp  picks a fight with the women---"

  
  
"Is Lori okay?" Rick interrupts, growling, ready to come to his wife's defense.

  
  
"No, man, no. It's nothing like that. The son of a bitch is abusive to his wife and daughter. He was harping on her while the women were doing laundry and hit her. I stepped in so he could fight with someone his own size." Shane relates the story, riling himself up even more with each word.

  
  
Rick raises a brow, " _He_ did that to you?"

  
  
Shane huffs, "No, man. All he knows how to fight is women. _Daryl_ also came back."

  
  
That revelation is more troubling than the wife-beater getting a hit in on his friend and Rick waits for him to elaborate.

  
  
"Of course he came back looking for that dickhead brother of his. Told him that something happened in Atlanta, that he was left behind, and when he started demanding answers, I said he'd have to talk to you. Then, he freaked the fuck out. He lost it, yelling and screaming and started pounding on the truck. I'm surprised that he didn't wake you up."

  
  
Rick doesn't bother correcting him.

  
  
"I didn't want him to do something stupid, like open it up, so I subdued his ass. He got a lucky hit in and headbutted me. Finally got him handcuffed to the tree over there." Shane finishes the story and points off to the side, where Rick can make out a lone form sitting with his arms encircling a thick tree behind him, his head down.

  
  
A rope is tied around his torso and Rick looks back at Shane questioningly.

  
  
"He's a wily little shit."

  
  
Rick shakes his head and chuckles." I am going to find something to feed on and when I get back, I'll talk to him."

  
  
Shane sees him off and Rick exits the camp away from everyone else, not wanting to interact with anyone else until he is able to replenish himself. He enters into the dense forest, stepping over a couple of tripwire alarms, and walks until he can no longer hear the happenings and conversations from camp. The moon shines overhead, broken apart by the thick canopy of foliage above, pale beams of light piercing through the veil to dot the ground that he treads. His eyes can clearly see anything that the brush isn't thick enough to hide and he feels powerful, predatory.

  
  
He stops a good ways out and hunkers to the ground to close his eyes and listens. Insects and other wild nightlife thrive around him, oblivious to the plight of the world outside of their own. Their lives are simple, obtuse, day-to-day, and free of complexity, unlike his own that, in reality, is just getting started. It is an overwhelming thought, the idea that he will live forever unless killed by another. That there is a very real possibility that he will outlive Lori, Carl, and Shane; watch them grow old and die while he watches the world evolve around him.

  
  
He will never change them. He will never become a Maker and subject someone else to this _existence_ , never able to walk in the sun and forever drinking blood to stay sane, never have another child. For the first time, Rick feels anger and hatred bubbling up inside of himself, at his own Maker for turning him and abandoning him. The question of _why_ they did it, if it was to save his life after being shot or for their own selfish reasons. He may never know.

  
  
He curses his Maker, whoever they may be.

  
  
A distinctive series of yips, barks, and howls snap his head up and Rick concentrates, trying to figure out where they are coming from. It may not be a deer but it is alive, which means that he can feed off of it. No, them: two coyotes, maybe three, close enough that he can hear the faint rustle of their movement now that he isn't dwelling. He knows that he can outrun them, the need to chase and hunt and _kill_ lighting his body up like a surge of adrenaline. With a destination set, he runs.

  
  
The noises stop as the coyotes detect him and then pick up as they attempt to flee. The hunt is on. Rick catches the first one easily, snapping it's neck to avoid wasting precious blood. He tucks the body under his arm, not willing to risk it to another predator or worse, a walker. Catching up to the second coyote, a third tucks its tail and veers off to the right as he snatches it by the scruff, dodging teeth to bash its head into a tree.

  
  
He lets the third one get away, maybe to become breakfast for another night. Starting with the second coyote, he wastes no time in digging his fangs into its neck, estimating where the jugular vein is. Blood and fur fill his mouth and he spits, gagging, letting it drip down the front of his shirt. After pulling out most of the hair from his feeding site, he dives back in. The blood tastes similar to what he's had but with an underlying bitterness, almost as if it is dirty, but it could all be in his head.

  
  
After the body runs dry, he tosses it to the side, stripping the hair from the other first before biting it. As he feeds, he feels his body rejuvenating, his strength returning, and his mind clearing. It's as if he just had a hearty meal and a good night's sleep at the same time, a warmth in his belly that makes his muscles tingle and sing with euphoria. He is full before the coyote is completely drained and he continues to drink on, not wanting to waste a single drop after starving like he has been. Another glob of fur is spit to the ground and Rick admires his kills.

  
  
Feeling kind of guilty at the brutality of it, he debates on what to do with the bodies. If he leaves them. they will attract walkers. But how to dispose of them? Bury them? Burn them?

  
  
Perhaps he can just go a ways out and dump them. Surely, if they are far enough away, then the camp will be fine. Perhaps other scavengers will get to them before the walkers can. With a plan in mind, he hauls the bodies up into his arms and runs. He can't go too fast in the dense terrain but he manages to get a couple of miles out before coming to a stretch of road.

  
  
It is completely barren, nothing visible in either direction but a 'deer crossing' sign. Debris from the trees litter the pavement, sticks and twigs built up along the sides as if anyone that travels does so straddling the center line. He tosses the carcasses onto the shoulder and enters back into the forest. It isn't hard to backtrack the way that he came, using the moon as a guide and following his instincts, arriving back to the camp less than an hour later. First thing's first: he looks for Shane without revealing himself.

  
  
He finds the younger man about in the same spot as before, staring intently at the group around the fire pit. Rick manages to walk right up on him before he notices, startling him even though he shows to outward appearance of it other than raising his shotgun. It is strange to see his friend so out of sorts. Normally the other man is vocal with whatever is on his mind, overly so, so seeing him like this raises red flags. Besides, what if it had been a walker coming up on him instead of Rick?

  
  
"Holy shit, man. I see you found something to eat."

  
  
Rick chuckles, "Yeah. Hey, do you know if my uniform got cleaned up?"

  
  
"It did. Lucky I didn't strangle Ed fucking Peletier with it."

  
  
Who? Ed Pel---oh. That must be the man who Shane beat the shit out of. Rick isn't so sure of Shane vehemence, he's always had a violent streak but usually he keeps it under control. At least, he used to.

  
  
"Carol laid them out in the front of your truck." Shane adds, "Left your pins and badge out. I'd have put them on, I just haven't gotten the chance."

  
  
"It's alright. I'm going to wash up and then talk to Daryl."

  
  
Mentioning the other man puts a sneer on Shane's face. The conversation ends and Rick retrieves his clothes and soap before making his way down to the lake. The water is a little bit warmer than what it was last night but he spends even less time bathing, running the soap over his torso and arms, where most of the blood has soaked through his shirt. He doesn't even wash his hair. When he finishes, he is methodical in putting the insignias in their rightful place on his uniform.

  
  
He still isn't ready for this conversation with Daryl but it has to be done. The dirty clothes are deposited at the truck and he retrieves his gun belt, slipping it around his waist and gestures to Shane as he passes, urging the other man to follow him. Everyone around the campfire watches them silently, knowing what is coming won't be pleasant. Rick meets Lori's eyes from afar and she promptly averts them, whispering something to the others nearby. Most go back to what they were doing but some, namely the children, watch on in anticipation.

  
  
As Rick and Shane trudge closer to the tied-up man, the same intoxication from earlier assaults Rick's nose. He falters in his step, slowing behind Shane, and he inhales a sharp breath when his fangs extend on their own. What the hell? He looks at Shane helplessly when the other turns back to him and he feels embarrassed. Shane beckons him up and Rick does so, tentative.

  
  
Daryl doesn't move from his position or even acknowledging them, so Shane kicks at one of his booted feet, "Wake up, Dixon. Got somebody here who wants to talk to you."

  
  
Blue eyes raise with enough heat to start a fire and Rick is taken aback. Brown hair, nearly the color of sand, stands up in every which way and a gag made from a strip of cloth part rosy lips surrounded by sparse facial hair. Tanned skin glistens with sweat and broad shoulders stretch out from under a sleeveless flannel. Dried blood flakes from his nose. The man, even in all of his roughness, is absolutely gorgeous, smells downright divine, and the first thing that Rick says to him is very much not what he was wanting to come out of his mouth.

  
  
"What _are_ you?"

  
  
His voice is deep, husky, and he ignores the way Shane's head whips in his direction to acknowledge the way those mirthful eyes widen a fraction in fear. This snaps him back to himself and he turns his back to Daryl, closing his eyes and willing his fangs to retract. What was all of that? Shane grabs his shoulder, asking the same thing, and Rick covers his mouth with a hand, shaking his head. What is that _smell_?

  
  
"Rick!" Shane snaps, shoving at him.

  
  
Rick looks at him from the side, watching him glance at Daryl and back to him.

  
  
"What's going on?"

  
  
Rick doesn't know what to tell him and that _scares_ him.

  
  
"What is he talking about, huh? What did you do?" Shane growls, breaking away from Rick to storm up to Daryl, who hardens.

  
  
The other man lifts a hand to strike and Rick reacts without realizing it, his mind catching up to his body when he intercepts Shane's blow, standing between the two men and catching the fist effortlessly. By now, everyone in the camp has heard the commotion and is watching, some even approaching to see what is going on. Rick takes a breath and releases Shane, who is silently demanding answers. Unfortunately, he has none to give and wracks his brain for some kind of explanation. Dale, Andrea, and a tall, skinny man who Rick doesn't know the name of stops beside them.

  
  
"What's going on? I thought we were going to do this peacefully." Dale scorns, looking at Shane accusingly.

  
  
Shane is quick to defend himself, "Something happened. You know how weird he is, Rick was acting like someone scrambled his brain and then he goes on to ask Dixon what he is, like he's not human."

  
  
All eyes land on Daryl, who is fuming, shaking his head and growling through the gag.

  
  
"No, it's alright." Rick steps in, drawing the attention to himself, "He didn't do anything. I just got a whiff of...something...I don't know what. It made my fangs extend, though. Threw me off guard."

  
  
"You got a fang boner."

  
  
" _Amy_!" Andrea exclaims, scandalized, at the girl who had crept closer from the others.

  
  
As she attempts to see the other girl off, she goes on, "What? That's what they called it!"

  
  
Andrea and Amy retreat back to the others and Rick feels uncomfortable when Shane, Dale, and the stranger all look down at Rick's crotch.

  
  
He averts himself, knowing that he would be blushing if he could, "No! I'm not---no! I'm not _turned on_."

  
  
The air around the five men is tense after that until Dale clears his throat, "Well, we need a new name for that, especially around the kids."

  
  
Rick can't bring himself to laugh. He also can't agree more. Now that the mood is broken, though that wonderful, intoxicating smell still remains, he is able to retract his fangs and get a grip on himself. With a deep breath, be turns around to face Daryl, who is still glaring up at him but silent. Kneeling, he goes to remove the gag, slowing when the younger man flinches from his touch.

  
  
Before removing the gag, Rick speaks to him in a calm, placating manner, "Hey, look at me." It takes a moment for Daryl to comply but when he does, he continues, "I'm not going to hurt you. _Nobody_ is. Now, I would like to have a calm discussion with you. You think we can manage that?"

  
  
Daryl glances at Shane and nods. Rick carefully removes the gag and Daryl pulls away from his touch as soon as he can, working his mouth and jaw to ease the discomfort. Rick half expects him to go on a verbal rampage much like his brother had but he shocks him when he stares him down. If not for his obvious advantage in their positions and power, that look would have intimidated Rick. As it stands, he is the one in control and he asserts himself.

  
  
"What I did was not on a whim. Your brother does not work or play well with others, He was going to get somebody killed. He shot me."

  
  
Daryl says nothing but he does occasionally look at the other three men in their presence.

  
  
"When he attacked me, it was unprovoked. I handcuffed him to a rail in the stairwell and then me and the others left him alone to have a conversation. He got away and shot at us, broke the glass doors of the store and ran off. Walkers started coming in and I chased him down. I can't...I was hurt, hungry, and angry and I can't even begin to explain to you how that felt but I know what I did was wrong. I didn't want to, didn't mean to feed on him like I did and I thought I'd killed him. Then, when Glenn came up and said that the walkers were flooding the store, I forgot all about him so I could help the others. Later, when I came back through, his body was gone. He had to have gotten up and left on his own, there was no sign that a walker had been near him, let alone eaten him. Where he went after that, though...I couldn't tell you."

  
  
It's basically the same story that Rick has told already and it still isn't any easier. The seconds tick by and he waits for the explosion, the rampage, grief, acknowledgment, _something_. But Daryl sits there, quiet, eyes fluttering from one person to the next in the camp. He appears to be dealing with something in his mind, perhaps just not wanting to look at Rick or trying to figure out what he wants to say. Finally, the other man's eyes blink closed and he takes a deep, shuddering breath.

  
  
"Just tell me where you left him so's I can go get him."

  
  
His voice is everything that Rick imagined it to be: low, rough, and dripping with deep southern upbringing. It is as intoxicating as that smell and for a moment he forgets his words. Even though the conversation is going beyond better than how he'd hoped, the younger Dixon's reaction is still something to be curious about. Everyone waits for Rick to say something, also not having expected things to go so well. For the second time that night, his words aren't what he wants to say.

  
  
"I'll show you."

  
  
Immediately, everyone is talking over one another but Daryl's voice is all he makes out.

  
  
"Ain't no way I'm going _anywhere_ with you!"

  
  
Rick isn't surprised by his vehemence.

  
  
"Look, everyone quiet down." he calls out, trying to convey his intentions, "Daryl, I made a mistake and I want to fix it. I can help you find your brother, I can go places that you can't. Walkers, they don't try to attack me."

  
  
Daryl snorts and Shane is the one who cuts him off, "Yeah? And what if you don't find him? Or you  do and suddenly you have two racist redneck douchebags trying to kill you?"

  
  
"Hey, fuck you, you snub-nosed pig!"

  
  
Shane and Daryl begin shouting at one another and once again, they have an audience in the rest of the camp.

  
  
"Shane!" Rick snaps, hauling his friend away, "Control yourself! Take it easy!"

  
  
Shane lowers his voice to a growl, "I've been wanting to put that little prick in his place since him and his no-good brother waltzed into camp."

  
  
"I get that, brother, I do. But I am in the wrong here and I've got to make it right. Trust me on this." Rick says, trying to gain the upper hand.

  
  
Shane still looks pissed but he relents, pulling away to storm back to the group, rubbing his head. Rick shares an exasperated look with Dale and walks back over to Daryl, who sits there tight-lipped. He goes back over their conversation, back before it derailed into heated insults. Daryl's response to his volunteering was automatic, defensive rather than offensive. He can work with this.

  
  
Without a word he removes a tiny steel key from his gun belt and approaches Daryl. The redneck tries to pull himself away, not knowing his intentions, and Rick wordlessly kneels behind him. Daryl's fists are bruised and bloodied, probably from beating on the truck, like Shane had said. His wrists are strangely free of any marks, meaning that the other man hasn't even tried to escape. Why?

  
  
Without a word, the handcuffs are unlocked and removed and Daryl scrambles away on the dirt to get away from him. He twists and falls prone, holding himself up with an elbow, and glares for all he is worth. His eyes hold distrust, curiosity, and fear? Rick stands slowly,  tucking Shane's handcuffs away into the empty slot of his gun belt. The air is silent, tense, thick enough to cut with a knife.

  
  
Rick waits for Daryl to make the first move and he doesn't have to wait long.

  
  
"What the fuck was that?"

  
  
Rick holds his hands up, "You can trust me. I want to help you."

  
  
"Yeah? And what if your friend is right and I want to kill you?" Daryl retorts, unphased.

  
  
"You can try. Your brother did and look where that got him."

  
  
The words aren't meant to hurt but they do, Rick can tell by the way Daryl tenses up.

  
  
"Look, it's like I said before. Your brother attacked _me_. I defended myself. I shouldn't feel bad about that but I do, for you. I know what it's like to be missing from your family. I want to help you find him but I warn you, I will not hesitate to defend myself again. You play that game and you will lose."

  
  
Daryl makes to stand, batting Dale's hands away when he tries to help, "What if I don't want your help? What if I just wait until morning and go?"

  
  
Rick is quick to answer, "Good luck finding him in the big city, overrun with walkers."

  
  
He knows that he has won. Nobody wants to  go back into Atlanta, nobody wants to help Daryl find Merle. Hell, some probably hope that neither men return. Rick watches Daryl battle internally with himself, watches him roam his eyes over the others without being overt about it. Everyone is waiting for him to speak and he is obviously uncomfortable under their scrutiny.

  
  
"I'm taking my bow."

  
  
Rick starts to accept the demand until the skinny man, who had been silent up until that point, speaks, "I don't think that'll be a good idea."

  
  
Dale only partly agrees, "Jim has a point but that bow is probably the best weapon here, if you're trying to go in undetected. But I'd say it's your call, Rick."

  
  
Rick hadn't even thought about it, he is embarrassed to admit. He didn't realize that the bow in question is probably one of the only weapons in camp that can actually kill him. It is a tough decision to make, knowing that he will have to be extra careful around Daryl, but he is trying to earn the other man's trust. What better way to accomplish it than to give him the power? He stares into Daryl's eyes, hoping that he isn't making the wrong choice, and nods.

  
  
"Give him his bow."

  
  
Everyone within earshot voices their concerns, minus Daryl, and Rick knows exactly what Shane is going to say when he other man storms up to them.

  
  
"Are you out of your damned mind?"

  
  
It only hurts that Lori isn't showing the same concern.

  
  
"Maybe. I guess we'll see."

  
  
"I can't let you go out there alone with him."

  
  
Daryl snorts, wisely keeping his thoughts to himself.

  
  
Rick goes on, ignoring him, sparing a glance at Lori and Carl, "I have to do this, it hits too close to home. He needs closure, one way or another."

  
  
"That sentiment is going to get you killed, brother." Shane growls fiercely, crossing his arms.

  
  
"I'm already dead." Rick jokes humorlessly, passing by him to approach the group by the fire.

  
  
Lori fastidiously ignores him as he speaks to Glenn, "Where did you put the bag of guns?"

  
  
"It's in the RV. I'll show you."

  
  
He follows Glenn into the RV, revealing the cabinet containing the duffel. They stand in silence as Rick loads up his Python, grabbing a few extra rounds just in case. He also grabs a Glock 17 and a Mossberg 500, with respectful ammunition. It takes some prompting but Glenn also hands over Daryl's bow, a Horton Scout, and a handful of bolts. He stops him before he leaves, holding out a couple of knives.

  
  
"The one with the brown handle is Daryl's. They took it from him, too." he says. "Take the other for yourself, just in case."

  
  
Rick takes them, clipping the sheath of the black one onto his gun belt, "Thank you."

  
  
"Just be careful."

  
  
Rick nods and exits the RV. He wants so much to speak to Lori and Carl, faltering in his step as he looks their way. Lori is actually watching him, an unidentifiable look on her face, and Carl looks as torn as he does. He respects Lori's space, her over-protectiveness of their son, and tightens his lips as he makes his way to Daryl. Shane still has a sour look on his face when Rick returns.

  
  
"I'll be back before dawn. With or without him." he says, patting his shoulder.

  
  
Shane shakes his head, "Still can't believe you're doing this."

  
  
"Just trust me."

  
  
Rick doesn't give him a chance to reply and he approaches Daryl, holding out the crossbow and then the gun and knife. The redneck says nothing to him but then again, he doesn't need to. Even with his weapons returned, he still doesn't trust Rick. The ex-cop is strangely okay with this, hoping that his show of good faith will ease the discomfort and not come back to bite him in the ass. He just has to keep his guard up.

  
  
As Rick approaches the box truck, Daryl stops him.

  
  
"Hold up. I ain't letting you drive." he says confrontationally.

  
  
Rick knows what it is: it's a control thing. Much like letting him have his weapons back, this is another threaded patch in his security blanket and he wonders just how much Daryl is going to take before he is comfortable. Or better yet, just how much Rick is going to give. He knows that he is being a little too trusting, that Daryl could be witling him down to pull a fast one on him, and the thought makes him laugh. Here he is, a vampire, afraid that a human is going to jump him.

  
  
He is sure that Daryl feels the same way about him.

  
  
"Something funny?" the redneck snarls, approaching an old Ford F-250.

  
  
"Of course not. So, you're driving?" Rick asks, following.

  
  
The door creaks and groans when Daryl enters the driver's side and he snarks through the open window, "No, I was going to put on my ruby slippers and tap my heels together. Get in, you're wasting time."

  
  
Rick gets in on the passenger's side and a sudden thought creases his brows, "When was the last time you've eaten?"

  
  
He still smells fish cooking, knows that the dinner isn't ready.

  
  
"More recently than you have, promise you that." comes the heated reply and Rick closes his mouth when the redneck starts the truck.

  
  
He watches forlornly as the camp disappears behind them. All of this time, trying to get back to his family, and now here he is, leaving them again. But really, Lori needs space. She needs time and maybe then, after she sees that he is still _Rick_ , she will accept him into her life. He is already on his way to proving himself to Daryl, even if the other man does remain prickly. All of that and yet, Daryl has spoken more to him than his own wife has.

  
  
Rick sighs and it is then that it hits him: the wonderful smell from camp didn't stay there with his family, no, it is traveling in the truck with them to Atlanta.

  
  
He stares at Daryl as he drives, wondering for the second time that night _...what are you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like what you read? I like stuff too! Let me know what you guys think, as long as it is constructive. If you have questions, let me know!
> 
> Also, a final, unrelated side note: tip your dog groomers, if you use them. We go through some serious shit sometimes. Literally and figuratively. ;)


	9. And Still The Hardest Part For You, To Put Your Trust In Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Daryl search Atlanta for Merle. Daryl lashes out, Rick retaliates, and they are forced to work together.
> 
> *Wow, apparrently I went months without actually having posted chapter nine. I am still baffled. But on the bright side...two chapters! Yay!*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, chitlins. Here is chapter nine. I have had some people ask about 'Savin' Me' and fear not, I have not given up on it. :P  
> Actually...I am considering starting a Supernatural AU Destiel fanfic too, based off of the series 'Petshop of Horrors'. *kicks at the dirt in shame* What, I am fickle!  
> So the chapter title is from the song 'Trust', by: The Cure.  
> I hope that it is not too obvious that I totally BS'd the search in this. >.

"I'm disappointed that you've not shown me those ruby slippers yet." Rick comments when they pull onto I85.

  
  
"Shut up."

  
  
He tries to ease the tension between them but Daryl is having none of it. The younger man drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other raised to his mouth to chew on the cuticle of his thumb. For the most part, his eyes remain on the road but Rick knows when he looks at him. He _feels_ it and he can't explain how. Just like how he can't explain why Daryl smells so _good_ , or what it is.

  
  
Rick is unabashed in his curiosity, he wants answers. But the longer he is with Daryl, the more obvious it becomes that the redneck is nervous around him, even if he does try to cover it up with aggression. Rick has never had problems reading people, it's part of the reason why being a cop came natural, and he can't help but want to unravel the mystery surrounding Daryl. On the outside, he is every bit of Merle's mirrored image but on the inside he is a shadow, a lie that is a close guarded secret. Rick has to wonder if anyone before him has really seen it or cared enough to unearth it.

  
  
God knows that he has everyone at camp convinced.

  
  
"Are you from around here?" Rick tries again and he isn't surprised at Daryl's repeated, "Shut up."

  
  
Sighing and rubbing his brow, he  goes back to looking out of the window. Many people were set in their opinions of vampires after the Great Revelation and Rick doesn't know many who were swayed. But it is possible. Lori knows him, surely she will come to see that he is the same man. As for Daryl, he will just have to prove himself.

  
  
That is, if the younger Dixon sticks around after this fool's errand.

  
  
"Where we going?" Daryl asks out of nowhere as they reach Atlanta.

  
  
"The, uh, Geib's Department Store on Peachtree is where we were holed up." Rick answers, more conscious of his surroundings the deeper into the city that they go.

  
  
He doesn't know what to think as the truck slows, bracing himself for confrontation.

  
  
What he doesn't expect are Daryl's next words:

  
  
"I don't know where that's at."

  
  
Well, that answers Rick's previous question.

  
  
"Just stay on this road, I'll tell you which exit to take."

  
  
Without a word, Daryl resumes driving. The city hasn't changed at all since last night, save for the location of wandering walkers. A few have merged into a couple of larger groups but fortunately, none like the herd from last night. They are attracted by the noise of the truck but aren't fast enough to keep up before being left behind. Besides Rick's directions, they don't speak more to one another.

  
  
"Turn here, and the store is on the left. Pull up so we can make a quick getaway, if needed."

  
  
"No, shit...I ain't dumb."

  
  
Rick wants to dispute the implication that he believes otherwise but he really isn't sure if it would help or not. Daryl turns the truck around in front of the store, facing the direction that they came, and shuts it off. A lone walker approaches from the north and Daryl says nothing, grabbing his crossbow and flashlight and exiting the truck in one fluid motion. Rather than shooting it, he unsheathes his knife and shivs it in the temple. It goes down as Rick joins him in the street.

  
  
Daryl stands over his kill in trance, concentrating on his surroundings as if listening for something.

  
  
Rick hears nothing.

  
  
Daryl comes back to himself, regarding Rick with untrusting eyes, "Lead the way. Pull anything and I'll shoot your ass."

  
  
To make a point, he knocks a bolt back. Rick is not intimidated but he doesn't completely trust Daryl yet either. He figured it would have been a good show of faith to return his weapons, maybe butter the other man up a little, but it seems like it will take more than that. That's fine. The redneck hasn't assaulted him yet, which is more than what can be said about Merle.

  
  
Merle. His brother. Right. The whole reason why they came back to Atlanta in the middle of the night in the first place. Giving Daryl the benefit of the doubt, Rick starts walking, entering the department store through the shattered glass doors.

  
  
He does, however, keep his focus on Daryl behind him, just in case. Glass shards crackle under their boots, deafening in the smothering silence of the building. Daryl eyes the destruction as he steps over it, careful not to cut himself on the jagged pieces still in the door frame. Rick observes the inside of the building that he was just in a few hours ago, looking out for any lingering walkers. He finds one approaching from the racks of clothes, drawn by their noise.

  
  
Before he can take care of it, Daryl stops beside him.

  
  
"Damn, you are one ugly skank." he snarks, shooting it in the head with no effort.

  
  
Rick is impressed, having never been around anyone using a bow, "Nice shot."

  
  
Daryl snorts, going to retrieve his bolt. It makes a squelching sound as it is removed from its head and Daryl wipes it clean on a hanging pair of jeans. He gestures for Rick to continue and the ex-cop does, weaving through the racks of clothes to the farthest stairwell door. Daryl follows and Rick leads him up to the second floor, right to the very spot where he subdued Merle. Daryl kneels on the floor and zones out, much like he had outside.

  
  
After a bit, he stands and calls out, "Merle!"

  
  
The sudden outburst  causes Rick to jump, "Hey! Shhh. Are you wanting to bring the walkers down on us?"

  
  
Daryl huffs, "Why do you care? They won't come after _you_."

  
  
"I'm not going to throw you to the wolves, even if you're the one to call them over." Rick sighs, placing his hands on his hips.

  
  
"Like you did my brother?" Daryl snaps, voice raising again.

  
  
Really, Rick should have seen this coming.

  
  
"I told you, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen and I am trying to make it right. I will stay out here all night, if that's what it takes."

  
  
Daryl eyes him and Rick doesn't know what else to tell him. Without another word, the younger man crouches again, this time studying the floor with intent. He frog-walks down the tile walkway, shining the light onto the floor. Rick watches him curiously as he spits on his hand and scrubs, wiping at a place on the tile. Daryl stands and follows the walkway with the flashlight, stopping at the very fire escape that Rick and Glenn had passed through.

  
  
"Let me see the bottom of your shoes."

  
  
Rick raises a leg and shows the bottom of his boot to him.

  
  
"What, did you find some footprints?"

  
  
"Yeah, Chinaman wears sneakers, you and Merle wear boots. Don't think these were made by no one else. If he's not here, he went that way." Daryl answers offhandedly, walking up to the open window.

  
  
A gentle breeze catches his hair when he pokes his head outside, carrying his scent right to Rick's nose when he approaches. He falters in his step, unconsciously drawing it in and shaking his head. Dirt, wet animal, smoke, cigarettes, sweat, and _that one_. Light, warmth, life. Rick wants so much to _taste_ it, to devour the forbidden fruit, but he _can't_.

  
  
When his fangs extend he curses, covering his mouth with a hand and turning around.

  
  
He knows that he startles Daryl, who whips around with his crossbow raised.

  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." he rambles, embarrassed.

  
  
"What? You wanting to suck me dry, too?" Daryl growls from behind him.

  
  
Still covering his mouth, he half turns back around, just enough to see the other man in his peripheral vision, "I don't know what it is. Amy called it...I'm not _turned on_ , but there is this _smell_ and I just can't control it."

  
  
"Should I just shoot you now, then? Kill you before you kill me?"

  
  
"No." Rick says quickly, "No, I won't kill you. I won't attack you, won't kill you. I don't _want_ any of this."

  
  
"I don't care much about what you want. I don't want you losing control and jumping me." Daryl snaps back, still on the defensive.

  
  
Rick finally faces him, still hiding his fangs, "What can I do? I am still new to all of this. I've not had anyone, a-a Maker, to show me the ropes. I don't want to be this _monster_ that people think I am, that I had no  choice in."

  
  
Daryl is breathing heavily, his intoxicating scent laces with apprehension.

  
  
He lowers his bow, "When you got two dogs, one that bites in aggression and one that bites in fear, you watch out for the one that's afraid. That's the one that ain't got no control over its instincts."

  
  
Rick contemplates the words, wise coming from the redneck but teeming with experienced knowledge.

  
  
"Think Merle left the building. You go first." Daryl says, stepping away from Rick so that he may walk by.

  
  
Just like that, they are back on track. It takes some effort to retract his fangs---he's _got_ to get control of that---and Rick gives the younger man a wide berth as he steps up to the window. Peering outside, the dark street is free of any mobile walkers. The two that he killed in the previous night are still laying where they fell, undisturbed in the passing hours. He steps out into the warm Georgia night, taking the fire escape to the road below.

  
  
Daryl slinks out of the building, standing for a moment on the rafters and looking around. He shines the flashlight on the metal, searching for clues, and checks out the steps leading up. Rick watches in awe, mesmerized by the hunter's tracking capabilities. Daryl obviously has skills, like some kind of redneck Holmes, and it hits him just how useful this man can be to the group at camp. Has nobody else realized his potential, or are they too intimidated by him and his brother to utilize it?

  
  
"Think he went up."

  
  
Rick cocks his head to the side, "You sure about that? I thought I'd killed him. How could he have made it?"

  
  
Daryl looks down at him, "Toughest asshole I ever met, my brother. Feed him a hammer, he'd crap out nails. Come on."

  
  
Rick climbs back up the ladder, sliding by Daryl on the narrow passageway, and leads the way up the metal staircase to the next level. The other man is quiet behind him and he glances over his shoulder to make sure that he is following. They ascend in a line together, up three more flights until they come across a broken window. Sharing a knowing look, they enter into a floor full of appliances and furniture. It is one of the floors that the group hadn't searched, not able to make much use out of the bulky items.

  
  
"Merle!" Daryl screams again.

  
  
No one answers.

  
  
"Where could he have gone, in is condition?" Rick wonders aloud, searching through the isles of refrigerators and stoves.

  
  
"Told you he was tough." Daryl comments, "Nobody can kill Merle but Merle."

  
  
"Don't take that on faith. He lost a lot of blood."

  
  
Daryl snorts, "Didn't stop him, none. Won't stop him from taking it out on your ass, neither."

  
  
Rick doesn't rise to the bait, just remains quiet as Daryl closes his eyes. After a short bit, the redneck kneels and studies the floor with the flashlight. He sets their destination through the maze of appliances. The silence stretches between them and Rick doesn't particularly mind, what with nearly every word spoken by the other man dripping with disdain. His treatment of him bothers him as much as Lori's does.

  
  
"He went this way." Daryl says, gesturing down one isle, "He ain't here no more. Must've gone to the stairs."

  
  
"Why would he just make a circle like that? Why not go up or down from the outside?" Rick questions as they enter the stairwell.

  
  
"He was probably staying away from you assholes. Didn't have the strength for no ladders, too risky. Looks like he went...down." Daryl replies.

  
  
"I get that you  can hunt but how do you _do_ that?"

  
  
Daryl regards him and for a moment Rick wonders if he will even answer.

  
  
"Just know what to look for. Tracking in the city ain't much different than tracking in the woods. Just harder. Mostly following footprints. But, see right here..." Daryl kneels to point out some smudges on the floor, "...this is sweat. And dirt. It's the freshest layer on top of all this other shit. Merle probably laid down here, rested, and went on. He ain't exactly trying to be subtle. I know what I'm looking for."

  
  
Rick walks to the side, just a step ahead of him, descending the stairs and trying to see what he sees. With his enhanced vision, he can make out grime on the floor, even some footprints, but can't differentiate anything useful. They keep going, coming to the end of the line at a door labeled 'basement'. Rick enters first, quickly searching for any danger, Daryl right there with him. The other man is fiercely independent and capable enough to back it up.

  
  
"Merle!"

  
  
"Hey, check this out."

  
  
Daryl rushes up to him, shining the flashlight down at his discovery: a ladder that leads down into a man-made hole, a walkway that appears to lead into Atlanta's sewer system.

  
  
"The fuck...?"

  
  
"I don't know." Rick says, moving his eyes from that to Daryl, "But it's a good start, right?"

  
  
"Go on, then."

  
  
Rick doesn't need to be told twice. He eases himself down the ladder, searching for any evidence of Merle having passed through. Daryl joins him at the bottom and they stare into the dark, cavernous hole. It is a cylindrical cement pipe that leads into a maze, a turnoff leading left and one leading right out of their line of sight. With his keen senses, Rick can faintly hear water and feel the kiss of wafting air on his cold skin.

  
  
But nothing beats the horrid smell.

  
  
"What do you think?" Rick asks the hunter.

  
  
Tearing himself away from the tunnel, Daryl begins searching the landing that they stand in. He checks the walls and the ladder and ends knelt on the floor, studying it. Rick watches him trail his fingertips through some sediment and again in two other nearby locations. It takes him a bit longer than before and he begins to wonder if the other man has even picked the trail back up. When he stands, he is chewing on a cuticle.

  
  
"He could've come through here. It's hard to track on concrete, though."

  
  
It is the most uncertain that Rick has seen him yet.

  
  
"Well, there's only one way to find out." he encourages and begins walking.

  
  
Daryl follows, keeping the flashlight as well as his crossbow aimed low.

  
  
"Which way?" Rick asks him when they come to the end.

  
  
Both men look down both directions and Daryl even observes the ground again. They are balanced precariously over two footholds that sandwich a line of still water that Rick really doesn't want to touch. Old watermarks line the walls, a testament to how deep the tiny stream has been, and cobwebs stick against the apex of the roof of the tunnel, mere inches above the crowns of their heads. The men are hunched to accommodate the tight squeeze and Rick is impressed at how easily Daryl's body seems to be taking it. His legs aren't even quivering from the strain.

  
  
"Left."

  
  
Rick leads the way, turning left. They walk, make some turns, and walk some more. The longer they are down there, the more he worries about the two of them becoming lost. He has already lost their location in his mind, or specifically how to get back, and his concern bleeds over into his actions when he comes to a stop, nearly having Daryl collide into his back. The redneck shines the light ahead, searching for a reason for their halt.

  
  
"What?" he barks, seeing nothing.

  
  
Rick sighs and faces him, "We've been down here for a while. Can you get us back?"

  
  
Daryl huffs and shines the light right into his face, "What do you care? Ain't like you're going to die down here. Ain't got no one back at camp who'll care, what with your wife---"

  
  
Rick doesn't mean to strike out at him, but when he mentions Lori and vocalizes his own fears with her concerning his unwilling vampirism, he sees red. With his fangs extending, he slaps at the hand with the flashlight, sending it crashing onto the concrete below with a crack, enveloping them in complete darkness. Darkness that Rick has full advantage in. In one movement, the crossbow is ripped away and Daryl is slammed into the curved wall by his neck, pretty much sitting in the confined space with the water soaking up the bottom of his jeans. He struggles, hands scrambling to grab his wrists to pry him off, but it is no use.

  
  
The sound that escapes his lips does clear Rick's mind enough to realize what it is he is  doing. He sees Daryl's eyes impossibly wide in panic, completely white around the blue irises. His breathing is ragged, quick and shallow, chest heaving between them as he attempts to breathe through his flared nostrils. His jaw is clenched tightly shut and Rick can actually hear the hard beats of his heart. It all happens in the span of seconds and Rick wrenches himself away in horror, dropping the other man's crossbow and backing up and not even caring that he is dragging his feet through that questionable water.

  
  
It takes his brain a moment to realize that he is speaking, voice reflecting his own panic, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

  
  
Daryl wheezes, coughs, and holds a hand do his throat as he draws his knife and curls in on himself defensively. He doesn't try to fight him, doesn't try to flee. Rick recognizes the panic attack. His fangs retract quickly with his anger as he tries to figure out what to do. He settles on trying to approach him again, using his voice to alert the other man to exactly how close he is getting.

  
  
If Daryl even hears him.

  
  
"Daryl, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..."

  
  
He doesn't know what all he says, just rambles things along the same lines as he eases closer. Daryl's eyes attempt to find him in the darkness, landing on a spot over his left shoulder. The moment of shock has passed, the look of uncertain fear being replaced by an iron calm. The hunter's instinct has kicked in, his deep and heavy breathing the only thing giving him away. The knife is held in a steady hand between them.

  
  
"Daryl?"

  
  
"Don't fucking come near me."

  
  
Rick doesn't, but vocalizes the issue at hand, "I didn't mean to do that, I'm sorry. I will never intentionally hurt you." Daryl snorts at that, "But now we have a problem. You can't see and I can't track."

  
  
"Don't need you to find my way out."

  
  
"Maybe not, you seem fully capable, but you can't _see_. If we're going to find your brother, we need to help each other."

  
  
Daryl scowls and bangs his head against the concrete. Rick doesn't push anymore than that, hoping that the other man will see reason and drop his vendetta against him. Even though the situation that they are in is completely accidental, it will either be really good or really bad. Rick is hoping that the opportunity will allow for Daryl to open up and trust him, that this may pave the way to at least neutral ground. Or it could make things so much worse.

  
  
"I will not hurt you." Rick says after a moment, focusing on Daryl's face.

  
  
A look of resignation bleeds through the fear. Rick gives him room to stand, not daring to offer help up. The knife, though not a threat to Rick, is still held out defensively. Both of their legs are soaked and it is much more unpleasant in their current predicament. If Merle is down here, Rick doesn't know how he has managed.

  
  
Hell, he doesn't know how he has managed at all from the store.

  
  
"I am going to pick up your bow and hand it to you." he says after a beat.

  
  
He vocally guides Daryl through his actions as to not surprise him as he bends over to grab the crossbow by its stock, "Here."

  
  
Daryl reaches out blindly with his free hand, fingers brushing Rick's as he takes it. The ex-cop pulls away, shaking his hand at the tingle that pulses from their point of contact. Daryl doesn't appear to feel a thing, sliding the weapon over his shoulder by the strap. His eyes search the darkness for Rick, who watches him patiently. It must be difficult for the younger man, what with Rick being as silent as is is while they stand there.

  
  
After all, he doesn't even have to breathe.

  
  
"Here, give me your hand. We'll keep going." he instructs, waiting to see what the other will do.

  
  
Daryl closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He extends a hand, expecting to find Rick's in the darkness, and he reaches out to grasp it. Immediately that tingle is back and Rick's initial reaction is to pull away, like he was electrocuted, but he refrains. Instead he closes his hand around Daryl's, who does  the same. The redneck's skin is rough and warm and _perfect_.

  
  
"Don't you feel that?" Rick asks him, not moving, just feeling.

  
  
Daryl tenses and huffs, "Yeah, you're fucking cold, just like every other dead son of a bitch."

  
  
Rick's mouth snaps closed. So much for that. But at least he is allowing him to touch him, right? It is a step forward, a small one, but a win nonetheless. It still gives him hope for Lori.

  
  
"We're going to keep going, a little slow. I will let you know if we come across anything, or come to a turn."

  
  
"Alright."

  
  
Just like that, the vampire guides the hunter.

  
  
They start out with baby steps for the first few feet before Rick alerts him to a four-way coming up. Daryl doesn't sound as sure of himself as he did before, more withdrawn and unsure, as he picks a direction. They go left. A few more feet and they make a right. They keep going and Rick hears it before he sees it, a walker snarling and moving around behind a metal grate.

  
  
"It's alright, it can't get to us." he tells Daryl when he feels the other tense, "But we have reached a dead end. There's no way Merle could have come this way."

  
  
"Fuck." Daryl growls and Rick looks back at him just in time to catch his crestfallen expression.

  
  
"I am going to kill the walker. There is nothing coming up behind you, so wait right here." Rick instructs, guiding his hand to a wall so that he can break away.

  
  
He draws the knife that Glenn gave him, making plenty of noise as he trudges up to the caged walker. It threats its bony fingers through the holes, concentrating on Daryl behind him. It is pressed tightly against its obstruction, perfect for Rick to slide his blade through---right into its head. The creature crumbles to the ground and Rick sloshes his weapon through the nasty water before wiping it clean on his lower pant leg. When he gets back to Daryl, the other man has his back against the wall and his eyes closed.

  
  
"Let's go."

  
  
This time, he doesn't startle him. He takes Daryl's hand and continues to lead him, backtracking a ways at his command. Nothing else his spoken between them besides 'left' or 'right' and Rick doesn't try to press conversation. He does glimpse at his watch once on a straight stretch: 3:49am. It doesn't seem like they have been in Atlanta that long but Rick has to leave in time to make it back to camp before sunrise.

  
  
He just has to figure out how to convince Daryl to call it for the night soon. The decision is made for him, though, when they round a corner and face down a corridor that leads to a familiar landing. Rick is flabbergasted that Daryl directed him back to the department store but more than that he is impressed that he remembered the way back without even taking a wrong turn. He slows to a stop just shy of the end of the tunnel, Daryl catching on and following suit, and turns to look at him. Even though he can't see, Daryl keeps his eyes down.

  
  
"Why are we back here?" Rick inquires, confused.

  
  
Daryl shakes his head, "Just get me back to my truck."

  
  
"You don't want to keep looking? There are a ton of passages down there." Rick argues, unmoving.

  
  
Daryl lets out a dejected huff, "Exactly. Ton of places he could've gone, if he even went down there. If he ain't _dead_. I can't..."

  
  
He trails off, shaking his head and wiping at his face with the wrist of the hand carrying the knife.

  
  
Rick waits for him to elaborate but it never comes and he finally relents, "Alright. We're not far from the ladder. I'll go up first and let you know if it's safe."

  
  
Daryl says nothing else and Rick continues on. He leads them to the ladder and makes sure that the hunter has his bearings before beginning to climb. When he gets to the top he does just a quick look around before returning to help Daryl, giving him the go-ahead to climb as well. Sheathing his knife, Daryl climbs slowly and surely and Rick holds out a hand, using his words to direct him and help him the rest of the way up. As he does this, though, something catches his eye.

  
  
There, in the crease of Daryl's right arm, are a series of scars that are grossly familiar to Rick. Track marks, from _several_ needles. Shane's words from earlier whisper in the back of his mind: _most of the time they strut around camp high as a kite_. The marks look old but there are plenty of other places to stick a needle. Rick says nothing about them as he hauls Daryl up, who catches himself from losing his footing.

  
  
Both men are quiet, somber even, as Rick leads them  back outside. The moon is hidden away behind the tall sky scrapers, allowing no useful light to go by, but the stars glitter beautifully in all of their glory. He can't help but admire them once they return to the truck, silently begging them for answers to his questions. Sadly, they have nothing to give. As if anything can be so black and white.

  
  
Daryl slides into the driver's side and Rick into the passenger's. The truck starts with the same complaints that it had back at camp and Daryl lets out an audible sigh when he turns the headlights on. Rick watches out of the corner of his eye as Daryl looks at him, finally able to see him even in just a little bit with the slight illumination. Rick doesn't know what he is waiting for but finally locks eyes with him. He can see him as clear as day, see the emotions in his eyes.

  
  
"Thanks."

  
  
It isn't what Rick expects and he's not sure what, out of all of this, Daryl is thanking him for but that doesn't stop him from replying.

  
  
"You're welcome."

  
  
Daryl puts the truck into gear and takes off, navigating his way back to I85 as effortlessly as he had navigated the sewers. While he's driving, Rick takes a moment to looks at the inner-elbow part of his left arm, not really surprised to see more scars. Old scars. He hasn't appeared to be drugged out at all in the entire time that Rick has spent with him, nor does he appear to be going through any withdrawals. Which is exactly why Rick engages him in a very important conversation.

  
  
"What now?"

  
  
It takes Daryl a moment to respond, "Going to drop you off at camp, pack my shit, and go."

  
  
"Go where? Merle could be anywhere and you still need to sleep." Rick points out.

  
  
He can tell that Daryl is tired, even if the other man is fighting it off as hard as he can.

  
  
"Fuck, I don't know. Just away." the redneck growls, obviously making his plan up on a whim.

  
  
"Why not stick around camp? There's safety in numbers, you've got some amazing skills, and I think I've proven that I won't be jumping you. We can help each other out, all of us." Rick urges him, trying to convince him to stay.

  
  
Not that any of what he says is untrue but he's not so sure about just letting that smell of his go.

  
  
But he will never admit that.

  
  
Daryl snorts, "Yeah, right. Ain't a body at camp that wants me to stick around. Ain't even sure if I want to."

  
  
"I get it. I know how you feel, so just hear me out. Not everybody is so excited about having a vampire around, either. To them, we're both outcasts. Even to my own wife. Some of the others, though...I earned their trust and they earned mine. They saw how useful I am and they're giving me a chance. They must've seen something in you and your brother, too, is why they let you stick around. I'll bet if you stopped pushing everyone away, maybe even shared more of your hunts, you would be more valuable to them than me. I can feed off of the blood that you drain and it will be an all-around win-win. What do you say?"

  
  
Daryl lets him say all of that without interrupting, so that must be a good sign. Even that they are calmly talking to one another to begin with is a huge step from just a few hours ago. Rick knows that he is making a compelling argument, especially if Daryl has given up on Merle and has nowhere else to go. They can make this work, together, and be outcasts, together. He doesn't stop staring at Daryl until he says something.

  
  
"I'll think about it."

  
  
Rick smiles, "That's all that I ask."

  
  
"But you got to tell that other dickless cop to stay the fuck away from me."

  
  
"Deal."

  
  
Now it is a waiting game. Almost an hour has passed since he last looked at his watch, nearing 4:40am when they pull back into camp. But something is wrong. Rick can smell it the closer that they get and his heart feels heavy with dread when they round a bend and come face-to-face with what is left of the camp. Several of the tents and equipment lay in shambles, bodies littering the ground of both walker and human. The fire pit burns tall and bright, illuminating the horrific scene in all of its glory and the survivors who huddle nearby on alert.

  
  
Once the truck comes to a stop, Rick is out and searching for Lori and Carl, finding them clutched protectively in Shane's arms, watching him with wet eyes as he approaches.

  
  
This time, Lori doesn't stop Carl from running up to his father, just watches with traumatized shock from her position pressed to Shane's chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am making the assumption that Daryl has never really been to Atlanta and I am crediting his ability to recall their way out of the tunnel to his hunting / tracking capabilities.  
> Also, even though RIGHT NOW Rick is concerned with his relationship with Lori, there will be no present Rick / Lori in this fic. :) Just a slowburn Rickyl.  
> PS. These passed couple of months have been hell. I have been sick (from severe to now only coughing crap up) for over one month. I got pink eye. Had a bad reaction to whatever the crap they numb you with to cut off a mole, AND I have a pretty severe sunburn (natural redhead, pale skin, and officially allergic to sunscreen).  
> Hoping now that I am almost fully recovered, I can get some more fics / chapters / art / whatever dished out.
> 
> Btw, anyone else signing up for GISHWHES this year? :0


	10. Take Charge Of My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group deals with the aftermath of the attack on the camp, Daryl proves to be even more of a mystery, and Rick takes charge.
> 
> *Apparrently I went months without actually having posted chapter nine. It was still in "preview" stage. So I posted it. Sorry for the confusion but on the bright side, TWO CHAPTERS!* 
> 
> *pretends like everything is okay*
> 
> So sorry for the mix up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :| Wow. I didn't realize that I hadn't updated this since my birthday (March 11). I am so, so sorry. I am a crappy updater. And to repay you, I give you the shortest chapter yet...I think. I am sorry, I wanted to end it as they leave the CDC but this was a great stopping point to fast forward a teensy bit. On the bright side, though, I HAVE started chapter 11 AND you guys now have Jayj456 and TheBlackRoom to keep my butt in gear. They helped me crack down to get this going again, so give them a big shout out!
> 
> Again, only beta'd by myself because I am impatient. I own nothing, I loved seeing Norman Reedus' naked butt tonight (even though it was dirty...I would still lick some sugar off of that sugar), and yeah. Lots of love.
> 
> Chapter title is from "Take Charge", by: In-Rage.

"Please, dad, don't leave us again. Please."

  
  
Carl's quiet sobs pull at Rick's heartstrings and he holds his son tighter, breaking eye contact with Lori only to glance at Daryl as he passes him with a muttered curse.

  
  
"Never again. I promise." he whispers into Carl's hair, this time looking over to Shane.

  
  
The ex-partners exchange a silent nod; a question, an understanding, a thank you. Once again, Shane kept his family safe when he wasn't around and there are no words to express his gratitude. With zero effort, Rick hoists Carl up on to his hip and approaches the pair tightly, painfully aware of Lori's stiffening posture. Shane whispers something to her, nonsense to Rick's ears, and she turns her head away to bury her teary eyes into his chest. Rick can't deny the twinge that he feels from that.

  
  
"What happened?"

  
  
Shane is not quick to answer, "I don't know, man. Once second, we're eating fish and the next..."

  
  
Rick doesn't need him to finish. It is painfully obvious what happened after that and he turns to take in the carnage around them. Carol and Sophia are alone with no Ed in sight and Andrea is eerily silent over the body of Amy. What really gets Rick, though, are the bodies of the people that he _didn't_ know, those whom he didn't have the time to really meet. It just goes to show how precious life truly is.

  
  
"I can't...thank you, for keeping them safe."

  
  
Shane nods again and the interaction prompts Lori to pull away, to actually look at her husband. This time, Rick is overcome by a whole other kind of flutter, one that makes him feel like the outsider looking in on something intimate. It is unsettling, surprising, and Rick is strangely okay with it. Obviously the pair have grown close in his absence, closer than Rick and Lori were the last time they spoke. That still doesn't mean that they won't have to have a talk later, once things have calmed down.

  
  
"Hey." Rick grabs Carl's attention, shifting him in his arms so that he may meet his eyes, "I'm not leaving, but I've got to check in on everyone else."

  
  
He tries a different tactic when Carl starts to protest.

  
  
"No, shhh, listen to me, please. Remember the oath that Shane and I took when we became policemen in King County? Protect and serve. Shane did an amazing job of protecting you and your mother and everyone else in the camp. But now we've got to serve them. We need to make sure that everyone is okay, if anyone is hurt. We're not going far, I promise you. I just need you to take care of your mother while we check on everyone. Can you do that for me?"

  
  
Rick knows how to sway his son, knows that his job as a man of the law was as big of a deal to Carl as it was to him.

  
  
"Okay, dad."

  
  
It's resignation, sadness, but the overall obedience that he is proud of in his son. He kisses Carl on the cheek, conscious of the warmth from the skin-to-skin contact, and sets him down so that he may walk back over to Lori. Even though it is a moot point, he nods to her before gesturing Shane over to him. Once off to themselves, the younger of the two engages conversation.

 

  
"Guessing you didn't find Merle, then?"

  
  
His voice is no less firm, still on edge from the horror of that night.

  
  
"No." Rick sighs, sparing a glance at Daryl, who is digging through the remains of his own campsite, "We looked around that department store and even in the sewers. It seemed like he had some sort of trail but then he just...gave up."

  
  
He chooses to leave out their altercation while in said sewers. Shane has nothing else to say about that, no snarky remark or degradation of either Dixon brothers, and for that he is grateful. Still drawn to Daryl's mysterious, alluring scent, his curiosity alone is enough to have a soft spot for him, a desire to keep him close and figure him out. _To taste him. Claim him._

  
  
Rick falters in his step, earning a concerned look from Shane, who is immediately searching for a possible threat.

  
  
"You okay, brother?"

  
  
"Yeah, sorry, tripped over my own feet." he lies, brushing the question off.

  
  
As they approach the Morales family, Rick dives back into his own head, backtracking to the thoughts that made him stumble in the first place. This isn't the first time that he has thought of tasting Daryl's blood but wanting to _claim him_? That is new and frightening. But rather than being scared of the thoughts themselves, it's the fact that he _wants to_ is what has him on edge. He stifles a groan when him and Shane confront Morales.

  
  
The family is fine, albeit understandably terrified. Miranda clutches their children in a death grip, eying Rick warily. It doesn't go unnoticed by the three men, who eyeball her with antsiness. As the two ex-deputies walk away, the husband and wife start what sounds like a heated conversation in Spanish, none of which Rick or Shane can identify. Except for _vampiro_ and _diablo_.

  
  
Those are pretty obvious. Rick can tell that Shane wants to say something but, once again, is thankful that he doesn't. Tensions are already high and as they walk around new and old corpses, now is not the time. Dale and Jim are by the camper, watching a sobbing Andrea cry over her fallen sister. Sparing uneasy glances at her shuddering back, they wisely evade her to engage the men.

  
  
"They snuck right up on us, got her as she was coming out of the RV." Dale whispers in a shaky voice.

  
  
It is obvious that he cared a great deal about Amy, that he is holding back a breakdown of his own. It's all in his eyes. Jim's eyes also look pained, shining with wetness and tinged with an animalistic fear. Once again, Shane is the one to carry the brunt of the conversation even though Rick invited him along. It is over as quickly as it began and this time he takes the initiative as they approach the members that Rick is more familiar with: Glenn, T-Dogg, and Jacqui.

  
  
"How are you holding up?"

  
  
Glenn is the most shaken up of the trio, fingers linked behind his head and pacing a small circle.

  
  
Jacqui, like Dale, is obviously distraught but managing to keep it all bottled up with her eyes being the dead giveaway.

  
  
T-Dogg regards them with a hard expression, the only one in the right mind to give them a steady answer, "About as good as we can be."

  
  
His voice sounds rough and Rick wants to implore but an unexpected snarl draws everyone's attention.

  
  
"You're bit?! Were you planning on sharing with the class?!"

  
  
Daryl's angry---no, downright _pissed_ \---voice carries all through camp and Rick has enough time to see him stalking up to the RV before he reacts. With speed faster than anyone can comprehend, he puts himself in between that deadly crossbow and Jim. His python is raised just as fast, aimed for the man behind it despite his instincts screaming at him not to hurt him. _Don't spill his blood. Don't waste a single drop of it._

  
  
"Daryl! Have you lost your mind?!" Dale exclaims, taking up Rick's side against the redneck.

  
  
Daryl is quick to defend his reasoning, "He's bit! Saw the blood on his side!"

  
  
All eyes turn to Jim, who is looking more and more ill at ease with each passing second.

  
  
"No...no..." the mechanic pleads, taking a step back with his hands held out in a placating manner.

  
  
Shane manages to sneak up on him, grabbing him by the arm and startling him further.

  
  
"Just let us have a look."

  
  
Rick knows that is his old partner's attempt at a soothing voice, even though it comes out gruff.

  
  
Shane eases a shivering, sweating Jim to the ground with Daryl adjusting his aim to accommodate the shift in height. Rick still holds his revolver up as well, even though his attention is completely on Jim. By now, a circle has formed around them, the survivors of the camp eager to see if Daryl's claim holds ground. Save for Andrea, of course, who still kneels over Amy yet regards them with a less-than-concerned look. Shane eases Jim's over shirt out of the way to reveal an obvious bite wound.

  
  
A chorus of multiple reactions erupt from the camp, all as frightened as the next, but in that time Rick makes direct eye contact with Daryl, who meets it with challenge.

  
  
_How did he know? There is no way that he saw that from his tent...it's not even bleeding through..._

  
  
Finally, Daryl pulls his crossbow back with an irritated huff, "Fuck this. I'm going hunting."

  
  
Before anyone can stop him, too dumbfounded with his nonchalance, he disappears into the treeline.

  
  
The next little bit is a blur of conversation. Carol is the only one who shows any interest for the redneck going off on his own, her voice strangely stable for someone who just lost her husband in a violent way. Not that nobody else is worried, but Rick has a feeling that Daryl is more than capable of handling himself. No, most of everyone is anxious about the newest development with Jim. With the man in question sitting with his back to the camper, the conversation is held well out of his earshot.

  
  
"What are we going to do about this?" Shane starts in a low voice.

  
  
"Well, we can't just put him down." Rick sighs, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully.

  
  
"I hate to be the one to say it," T-Dogg cuts in, "but I don't want him near my ass when he turns."

  
  
Dale gapes, "We can't just exile him!"

  
  
Shane is quick to counter, "What would you have us do, then? We can't kill him, we can't exile him, we can't let him stay---"

  
  
"Then we'll figure something out when the time comes." Dale interrupts, exasperated, "Let the man go in peace, for Pete's sake."

  
  
At those words, T-Dogg throws his arms up with a scoff.

  
  
"What? It's no different than what we're doing with Amy." Dale justifies.

  
  
"That's a little different." Lori interjects, "Andrea won't let anyone near her."

  
  
"And you think I will? He's my friend."

  
  
Their talking goes on and meanwhile, Rick is a bit distracted by the lightening of the sky. They will have to come to a decision fast, if he gets to have a say in the matter. Ideas are tossed around this way and that and talk of moving on is brought up, after the attack on camp. People are scared and frantic, Jim's condition lost in the cesspit of _what now_? The group needs someone to take charge and _lead_.

  
  
" _Enough_!"

  
  
Rick's voice is booming and full of authority, demanding the attention of everyone around him.

  
  
"We are _not_ putting him down and we are _not_ sending him away. We are going to get him some help."

  
  
"What are you thinking, brother?" Shane inquires, immediately backing him up.

  
  
All eyes are on Rick, waiting to hear what he has to say.

  
  
"The CDC."

  
  
"The CDC." Shane parrots, his face mirroring that of everyone else around them: shock.

  
  
"Yes."

  
  
"The one in Atlanta."

  
  
"The one and only."

  
  
Rick sees the moment that realization dawns around him, how the majority of the group is putting the idea down before he has a chance to sell it.

  
  
"No, listen. When we escaped the night before, a lot of the walkers were lured away. Last night, Daryl and I hardly met any. Now, if I remember right, the CDC is just a few miles up the road from that shopping center. A few of the side roads were blocked off but the main road was pretty clear of traffic. I think we can take the cars right on through and if we need to reroute, Glenn is familiar enough with the streets that I'm sure he can get us there. It is the best shot that Jim has. If anyone has answers to all of this, it will be there."

  
  
He is relieved that a few of the members of the group appear more convinced.

  
  
"What makes you think it's still operational? I don't know about everyone else but I saw, myself, when the military napalmed the city." Shane inquires, not pessimistic but not wanting to leap blindly.

  
  
"Then we turn around and leave. No harm, no foul." Rick counters, more confident in his decision than ever.

  
  
Shane nods, his gaze flickering to Lori. Rick's follow. The dark haired woman's arms are crossed, a delicate hand hiding her lips from view. Her own eyes move from one man to the other before she realizes that they want her opinion. Her head moves stiffly, a curt bob as she voices her affirmation.

  
  
"Sounds like a plan."

  
  
Rick can't help but smile, relief washing over him at having the support of both his wife and his best friend.

  
  
"What about our dead? We can't just leave them like this." Glenn pipes up, quiet up until now.

  
  
"We will take the time to bury them. They deserve that much." Rick pauses to glance up into the sky once again, "I hate to say it, but I won't be able to help you. The sun will be up soon. If you can do what you need to do today, pack up and hit the road, we can maybe get there by nightfall. The walkers don't react to me, so I can get into the CDC later if I have to. We've got this."

  
  
The group breaks apart to do their own things.

  
  
Rick directs to Shane, "I have to go inside for the day. I'll leave it up to you to hash out the details, if that's alright. If you need anything, just holler."

  
  
"Will do."

  
  
Rick pats him on the shoulder, brushing by him to retreat into the box truck until the same glorious scent from before rises above the smell of rot, alerting him to Daryl's presence before the other man emerges from the forest. When he turns to greet him, he is pleasantly surprised to see the other man with a string of squirrels clutched in one hand. He doesn't appear to be shocked that Rick knew he was coming, despite having been quiet in his tread. The redneck comes to a stop before them, ignoring Shane to present his kills to Rick. Stunned at the offering, Rick comes back to himself when Daryl holds them out further for him to take.

  
  
"Thank you." he says, finally taking them.

  
  
"It ain't much but maybe it'll hold you out until tonight. Didn't use my bow, so no blood lost." Daryl tells him, starting away until Rick calls out to him.

  
  
"Hey, wait!"

  
  
Daryl pauses, regarding him with a blank stare.

  
  
"We're heading out to Atlanta today. To the CDC. You coming?"

  
  
Rick doesn't tell him that he can't imagine leaving that wonderful scent  behind.

  
  
Daryl seems to consider it for a moment before answering, "Yeah. I'm in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: all addresses I have used in this fic, all locations, were taken from actual filming locations rather than a real store or the real CDC.
> 
> Oh, and for the dead squirrel mystery...it is a mystery. ;)
> 
> Kudo, comment, bookmark, don't give up on me. <3


	11. In The Wind Of Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group makes it to the CDC and Rick notices some curiosities in Daryl and things change between him and Lori.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Wind of Change", by: Scorpions.
> 
> So. It has been a while. I am sorry for those of you who dutifully follow this story. Honestly, besides just being busy and tired, I really didn't feel much for this chapter. I did something that I really hated (in myself - I have read other fics that did this and they did not bother me): I kind of wrote WITH the episode, similar dialogue and actions. So this is a filler chapter. I wanted to get the entirety of the CDC done in one go but this one was getting long so, sadly, that did not happen. I want to get to season two so badly because, to throw you a bone, that is when things REALLY start happening between Rick and Daryl. The next chapter WILL conclude season one and I will do my best to not have it be all...repetitive. 
> 
> Please enjoy and I will try to get the next chapter up sooner than this one was. :B
> 
> And, as a side note, there will be NO Rick x Lori. They will become closer as friends but nothing relationship wise. I am exploring this fic as what if Shane did not have to compete with Rick for Lori? No crazy shit! Yay, Shane lives!
> 
> Unbeta'd and all mistakes are my own.

Jim doesn't make it to the CDC. Rick is still awake when the box truck comes to a stop, Glenn's voice announcing from the front that something is wrong. He knows before the news is delivered and he feels immense sorrow constrict his chest, crimson tears mixing with the bleeds that already flow down his temples. The caravan doesn't stay stopped for very long. He doesn't even get to say goodbye.

 

Not like he did with Morales, when the other man revealed his wife's discomfort on traveling with a vampire through the metal wall of the truck. It hadn't been a surprise, not really, after picking up Miranda's few Spanish words and heated looks. Rick expressed his gratitude at having met the other man and his regret at their parting ways. Maybe one day their paths will cross again. Rick just wishes he'd been able to bid them a proper farewell.

 

He is mentally and physically exhausted by the time they enter the city, also revealed by Glenn an insurmountable amount of time later. He also informs him that the sun is starting to set, a relief in itself because hunger is setting in. The squirrels didn't do much to quell his thirst, hopefully the CDC will have something for him. If not, perhaps he can hunt the urban jungle of Atlanta for stray animals. At this point, anything will suffice.

 

Everything is quiet outside of the truck, drowned out by the rumble of the engine. They have noticeably slowed down, probably to better navigate the streets, and Rick can sense the sun as it sinks further down, can see the fading light through the tiniest of openings in the roller-door. Their location within the city, however, is lost on him. He can feel the turns but he's never been that great at navigating. All he can do is wait for one of Glenn's numerous updates.

 

"Hey!" it finally comes from the front, "We're here!"

 

The outside light has taken on more of a blue hue.

 

"There are a few walkers around, nothing we can't handle. We won't be able to drive right up, either."

 

Glenn's play-by-play has been frequent, that is for sure.

 

It's a good thing that he hasn't been able to sleep, anyway.

 

"You might be able to come on in in maybe thirty minutes."

 

"Sounds good, thank you."

 

As he listens to the others exit their vehicles and prepare to trek to the CDC, Rick takes the time to clean up his sleep area. Blankets are folded and stacked in the corner with his pillow, which he is annoyed to find is dotted with blood. There isn't much to do in here to pass the time so he takes the stained pillowcase to wipe away the bleeds. Hopefully the CDC will have access to showers. Maybe even a real place to sleep.

 

The possibilities are endless and Rick's mind goes through them wistfully.

 

That is, until he picks up the sound of screaming.

 

Desperation.

 

 _Fear_.

 

An emotion flares to life within him, a raw fire that consumes his insides and leaves him seeing red. He thinks back to the state of the camp when he and Daryl returned and suddenly the bodies are replaced with his loved ones. Carl, Lori, Shane. Daryl. Before he even realizes what he is doing, the box truck door is wrenched up and the fading light of the evening is revealed.

 

The setting sun, blocked from view by the surrounding buildings, has painted the sky a dark mauve color. As much as Rick hates the color, it is still the most beautiful sight that he has beheld, second to seeing his son for the first time after birth. For a moment, his fury is forgotten, replaced by an all-consuming warmth of wonder. It starts in his chest, quickly spreading to his stomach and limbs, up his neck and to his head. When his eyes begin to burn, he knows that the heat isn't from the reverie.

 

Rick's skin turns red and begins to steam and his first reaction is to raise his arms to protect his head. Of course, the action does nothing to ease the pain and a whimper escapes his cracking lips. From behind his forearm, he spies the CDC building and the mob of walkers. The mob of walkers that are closing in on his friends and family, who are cornered at the secured doors of the building. With a snarl, he takes off at a blurred run and fights through the undead crowd within seconds.

 

The shocked, scared, relieved faces of the group greets him but he has no time for words.

 

He has to get them to safety.

 

"Hey! Open up!" he roars, pounding on the metal of the security doors.

 

The metal gives, but not by very much. The fear of the people around him and the pain of his own body burning gives him energy that he doesn't have and he focuses on tearing the obstacle down.

 

"There are women and children out here! _Please_!" he cries, voice breaking.

 

The next punch dents the metal, causing the door to shudder with the force. He raises a bloody fist to continue but a whirring sound from beyond stops him. He hears it but knows the exact moment when everyone else does, too, for they quieten down and stare at the building. The door begins to raise, flooding the darkening streets with a blinding white light. It's like something out of a science fiction film.

 

"Go! Everyone inside!" Rick screams, urging them along and following Daryl inside.

 

The massive steel door closes behind them but before he can check on everyone, a voice calls out.

 

"What do you want?"

 

Guns are raised to the newcomer, an older man in casual dress with his own weapon trained on them.

 

He came from a hallway leading deeper inside and he has the glint in his eyes of someone who has seen too much.

 

Rick can only assume that he is an employee.

 

"Just a chance."

 

The man looks untrusting, staring each of them down, sizing them up and lingering on him the longest, "You're a vampire."

 

It's not a question.

 

"Yes, but _please_ , I won't hurt---"

 

"Are you infected?" the stranger interrupts, uncaring of what he has to say, "Are _any of you_ infected?"

 

Rick is reminded of Jim and he lets the grief show, "One of us was. He didn't make it."

 

The man seems to debate with himself, blinking rapidly, and Rick knows his decision before he speaks.

 

"You will all submit to a blood test. That is the price of admission."

 

Before Rick can accept the deal, Daryl shocks everyone by snarling, "Why? You can see none of us have symptoms."

 

Everyone looks at him like a child disrupting class, as if his behavior will have them all punished.

 

"It's a simple request. I'm doing research on this thing and, in addition to making sure, it's more specimens to use. You are seeking refuge, that is the price. If you've got something to hide, you can go right on back outside. And if you think that your vampire can force his way further in, let me remind you, that none of you know how to operate this place and will flounder within a week."

 

Rick is silently begging Daryl to stand down, to give this place a chance. He visibly relaxes when the redneck nods with a huffed, "Fine."

 

The stranger lowers his gun, "If you need to bring anything inside, do it now. Once these doors close, they won't open again."

 

The group rushes to bring their supplies in through the set of double doors, all under the man's scrutiny. He then leads them to an elevator, but not before tapping on a keypad and speaking aloud.

 

"Vi, seal the main entrance. Kill the lights up here."

 

It sounds so final.

 

"Rick Grimes."

 

He holds out his hand in a greeting and the other man blinks at it before responding, "Dr. Edwin Jenner."

 

The entire group packs into the spaceous elevator and RIck takes the time to lean against the cool wall, feeling the burn from his exposure to the sun hit him full force. Everyone seems more relaxed, their descent into the unknown a much better option than fighting for their lives outside. Jenner is silent, his head bowed, and seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Daryl is still glowering at him, sizing him up. He is the one to break the silence.

 

"Doctor's always go around packing heat like that?"

 

"There were plenty laying around. I decided to familiarize myself. But you look harmless enough."

 

Jenner speaks as if in a trance, slow and eloquent. But then he looks down at Carl with a smile, the expression appearing unnatural on his face.

 

"Except you. I'll have to keep my eye on you."

 

Carl and Sophia giggle. The adults can't bring themselves to do so.

 

The elevator dings as they reach their destination and Jenner leads them out into a long hallway.

 

"Are we underground?" Carol asks from the back.

 

Without breaking his stride, Jenner replies, "Are you claustrophobic?"

 

"A little."

 

"Try not to think about it."

 

That is all that is said about it. Rick and Shane lead the group further into the complex, passed several closed doors and rows of lights. The place smells stuffy, clean, and clinical, and Rick has a fleeting thought that this place will be perfect for him. No sunlight. He will just have to time his sleep patterns so that he doesn't get the bleeds.

 

They enter into a large, open room full of computers and Jenner calls out, "Vi, bring up the lights in the big room."

 

The illumination does help everybody else see and they are led further into the room with a simple greeting from Jenner.

 

"Welcome to Zone 5."

 

Rick can't help but notice the complete lack of other life and the thought does make him nervous.

 

"Where is everybody? The other doctors, the staff?"

 

Jenner stands in the center of the room, appearing small and speaks with an even smaller voice, "I'm it. I'm all that's here."

 

Lori pipes up from behind Shane, "What about the person you were speaking with? Vi?"

 

Without missing a beat, Jenner calls out, "Vi, say hello to our guests. Tell them, 'welcome'."

 

The artificial voice responds immediately, "Hello, guests. Welcome."

 

With sad eyes, Jenner repeats, "I'm all that's left."

 

Rick's face falls, along with his stomach. He had hoped for a little bit more from this place; scientists with all of the answers, a home; a cure. It is still better than outside but he can't help but soak up Jenner's mood like a sponge. There isn't much else to say on the matter and Jenner must sense his displeasure. The other man drops his eyes and mutters an apology.

 

Jenner gets to work gathering supplies, letting the conversation sink in. For a brief second, Rick doubts hismelf. What if this was just a dead end? Did he lead these people to more death and misery? No, he tells himself, he needs to have faith.

 

Jenner leads the group through a set of double doors, into what appears to be a presentation room. He has the lights turned on and sets up a lone table in the front, laying out the equipment needed to draw blood. Rick takes the initiative while everyone else sits in the rows of empty chairs, claiming the one across from the scientist without complaint from anyone else. It's a show of trust. The price of entry.

 

Jenner is clinical, too quiet, as he takes what he needs from Rick and moves on to Shane. From that point, Lori goes followed by Carl and Rick feels pride swell in his chest at his son's lack of fear. Carol goes before Sophia, who requires a little coaxing from Carl and some surprisingly good beside manner from Jenner. Daryl, once again, voices his displeasure but otherwise complies. Andrea is the break in the middle that engages conversation.

 

"What's the point? Daryl's right, if we were infected we would already be running a fever."

 

Jenner answers quickly, "I've already broken every rule in the book, letting you in here. Let me just at least be thorough."

 

The vial clinks when he sets it down with the others.

 

"All done."

 

Andrea stumbles when she stands and Jacqui, who was awaiting her turn, catches her.

 

Jenner starts, "Are you okay?"

 

Rick doesn't miss the twitch of his hands, the eyes that narrow in suspicion.

 

"She hasn't eaten in a while. None of us have." Jacqui answers quickly, easing Andrea into another waiting chair.

 

Jenner's eyes go to Rick first, who is quick to defend himself, "I fed from some squirrels on the way over."

 

The scientist eyeballs him from head to toe, taking in his burnt skin.

 

"After we finish up here, we'll eat. We've got plenty of untouched food-stores as well as some untainted Tru Blood."

 

Just like that, everybody perks up. Someone's stomach even growls, loud in the otherwise quiet of the room. Jacqui can't keep a smile off of her face as she pays her due and the remaining members of the group are eager for their turn. With all of the samples collected, Jenner leads everyone back out and further down the hall, passed several more closed doors and into a massive cafeteria. Only one row of lights are turned on, illuminating a table and chairs as well as enough of a walkway to what leads to an empty buffet line and a set of swinging doors.

 

"That is the kitchen." Jenner tells them, gesturing to the doors, "There, you will find an attached pantry and walk-in freezer. There is also a cooler, where there are drinks. Including the Tru Blood. A microwave is available if you want it warm. Now, if you'll excuse me."

 

Jenner turns to leave but Rick calls out to him, "Wait!"

 

The other man stops and side-eyes him.

 

"Thank you. So much."

 

Jenner smiles a smile that barely raises his lips. "You're welcome."

 

And then he is gone.

 

At first, the group remains still, as if waiting for more instruction. Or someone to take lead, once again. Rick breaks away and strides to the swinging doors, confident that the others will follow. And follow they do, right into the industrial-sized kitchen where every surface is either tile or stainless steel. It is remarkably clean and smells surprisingly fresh.

 

It doesn't take them long to find the food, mostly dehydrated and well preserved. Meats, vegetables, pasta; a lot of things that they've not had the luxury of since before the world changed, and they indulge in the form of grilled chicken breast and spaghetti with marinara sauce, garlic toast, and red wine. Lori, Carol, and Jacqui chomp at the bit to prepare their meal and it isn't long before everyone is wound down enough to relax. A few of them even laugh, except for Andrea whom, Rick decides as he chugs his second bottle of cold Tru Blood, is still not in the mood. He wishes that her pain can be healed as easily as his skin after a few bottles of the stuff.

 

She only picks at her food when after dinner is served, instead focusing on downing her wine. Nobody comments on it, instead getting wrapped up in their own conversation as they get full and comfortable. The food smells delicious to Rick's sensitive nose but he does not eat, not sure what will happen if he does, but is content to watch his friends and family gorge themselves. The overall mood is light, joyous, even after Jenner silently joins them with a contemplative look on his face. He probably isn't used to all of these people.

 

The wine has done plenty to loosen everybody up and Rick is surprised when Lori continuously looks at him from the other side of Carl. Her face isn't even darkened by a frown, though she does look away when she realizes he is watching. It is more than what he can ask for, after how she has been treating him. Wine has always been a method of decompression for Lori, even though Rick didn't agree with it, he is hoping to be able to actually have a conversation with her. Maybe later.

 

"You know," Dale comments as he, too, pours himself another glass, "in Italy, children have a little bit of wine with dinner. And in France."

 

It doesn't escape Rick's notice that he is gesturing to Carl and Sophia, who is sitting on Lori's other side.

 

Lori picks up on it immediately, "Well, when Carl is in Italy or France, he can have some then."

 

She takes another sip from her own glass.

 

Without even thinking, Rick chimes right in, "What's it going to hurt? Come on."

 

Dale laughs and Lori's head whips toward her husband, an answer on her lips that dies out along with the remaining conversation in the room. Everyone knows of the tension between the two and they are eager to see how this plays out. One of Shane's eyebrows is raised, ready to step in and play mediator again from across the able. Rick waits, silently pleading for his wife to engage, to say something. Finally, she looks up to Dale with a smile tugging on her lips, and gives him the go-ahead.

 

Rick beams.

 

Dale grabs Carl's empty cup and pours a little bit of wine as everyone else cheers, "There you go, young lad."

 

Carl is eager to try it and Rick knows exactly what his reaction will be.

 

It's the only reason why he agreed to it in the first place.

 

Carl gags after just a sip, "Ew!"

 

Everyone laughs except for one and Rick zeroes in on Daryl. The redneck has been quiet from his position against the wall, away from the group. Come to think of it, Rick isn't so sure that the other man has even eaten, only nursed his own bottle of what appears to be whiskey. His mood is concerning, a rapid decline from earlier. It must be the hard liquor.

 

"That's my boy. That's my boy." Lori mutters, bringing Rick back as she pours Carl's leftover wine into her own glass, "Good boy."

 

"Yuck. That tastes nasty."

 

Easing back into his seat, Shane chimes in, "Well, just stick to soda pop there, bud."

 

That earns another chorus of laughter, minus Daryl and Andrea, and the participating group raises their glass in a toast.

 

At this, Rick thinks of something important.

 

He taps on his glass with a fork to get everyone's attention and stands, "It seems to me we haven't thanked our host properly."

 

T-Dog catches on and raises his glass again, "He is more than just a host."

 

It isn't long after the group sips from their glasses does Shane ask what they've all wondered, "So when are you going to tell us what happened here, doc?"

 

Their smiles creep away and, one by one, all eyes return to Jenner without the previous warmth.

 

"All the, uh, other doctors that were supposed to be figuring out what happened, where are they?" Shane elaborates.

 

Rick is curious as well but feels like this is a bad time.

 

"We're celebrating, Shane. Don't need to do this now." he says, attempting to call his ex-partner off without undermining his concerns.

 

"This is why we're here, right? We were supposed to find some answers, help Jim, but Jim didn't make it. Yeah, we're safe, but all we've found here is one man. Why?" Shane says his piece staring pointedly at Jenner, who remains stoic.

 

The doctor doesn't hesitate in his reply, "Well, when things got bad a lot of people just left, went off to be with their families. When things got worse, when the military got overrun, the rest bolted."

 

"Every last one?"

 

"No. With more and more tainted vampires popping up, killing people by the masses, many were afraid to leave. They...opted out. There was a rash of suicides." Jenner pauses to knock back his own remaining wine, "That was a bad time."

 

"You didn't leave." Andrea pipes up, "Why?"

 

Jenner doesn't look up, "I just kept working, hoping to do some good."

 

When he finishes, Jenner meets her eyes.

 

Rick averts his own, finishing off another bottle of Tru Blood. He processes Jenner's words and decides that he is thankful he wasn't around for all of that. People panicking, running for their lives from ravenous vampires, committing suicide? Did Lori or Carl or even Shane consider it? It's no wonder that people have been wary of him.

 

Glenn sighs, "Dude, you are such a buzzkill, man."

 

Shane has the decency to look chastised. He had, after all, effectively ruined the mood.

 

"Well." Jenner breaks the solemn silence, standing, "How about I show you the living area? Get you settled in?"

 

"That is a great idea." Rick says, following suit.

 

Everyone rises, gathering their belongings and leaving the dishes and leftover food to be taken care of later. They fall into a line and Rick doesn't miss how Daryl takes the bottle of whiskey with him. He has to wonder how much the redneck plans on drinking and, more importantly, why? Wasn't he happy to be safe? Though, this mood only started after Jenner mentioned wanting blood samples...

 

Daryl doesn't have anything to hide, does he? Would Jenner tell them? He hasn't heard anything yet so maybe he is just overthinking it. Yes, that's it, Rick decides when he gets a whiff of the other man as he passes. There is no way that someone who smells _that good_ can be infected.

 

Rick brings up the rear as Jenner leads them down yet another corridor.

 

"Most of the facility is powered down, including housing, so you'll have to make do here. The couches are comfortable but there are cots in storage if you like. We've even got some coffins, for our old vampire employees. Some just preferred the security of the enclosure to the open rooms." Jenner informs them as they walk, lights flickering on all around them as they sense their proximity.

 

"No, thank you, I'm actually a little claustrophobic." Rick answers him about the coffin, much preferring the cot or even the couch.

 

Jenner actually snorts, "A claustrophobic vampire, that's rich. Now, there is a rec room down the hall that you kids might enjoy. Just," he bends over to where he's eye level with the children, "don't plug in the video games, okay? Or anything that draws power. The same applies; if you shower, go easy on the hot water."

 

And that's that. Jenner briskly walks away as if he hadn't just said the two most coveted words. When Glenn and T-Dog side-eye one another, they are grinning. Carl and Sophia even look a little excited at the prospect and it used to be a battle to get the boy to bathe. More smiles twist up the longer Glenn's repeated words hang in the air.

 

"Hot water?"

 

"That's what the man said." T-Dog chuckles.

 

The two men bolt for doors open further down the hall as Carol claims one nearby with her daughter. It sets the rest of the group into motion, each splitting off and disappearing into their own rooms. Shane noticeably looks at Lori and then Rick, patting the latter on the shoulder before finding his own. Rick meets Lori's eyes, Lori, who still looks nervous but not flat-out terrified of him anymore. It's like something at dinner shifted between them, not much but enough.

 

"It's alright." he tells her, "You and Carl can go on."

 

Carl gives him a hug before making his way to an unoccupied room and Lori actually smiles softly, "Thank you."

 

Rick smiles back and speaks before he loses the moment, "You're welcome. You don't have to be afraid of me. I will never, ever hurt you or Carl. I'm still me."

 

Lori has her back to him but she stops and turns back to him, "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My, my, my...what could Daryl possibly be hiding? :3
> 
> Fun fact: I despise the color mauve. When I was still learning to do digital art in Microsoft Paint (self taught, I want professional lessons so badly in Photoshop) I did something to the palette and it gave me nothing but shades of mauve. I had to redo my piece and it sucked. So I gave my hatred of the color to Rick for some personality. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys thing, if you have any questions or anything.


	12. When The Cities Are On Fire With The Burning Flesh Of Men, Just Remember That Death Is Not The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick learns a little more about vampires as well as Lori and Shane's secret. Daryl's secret, however, only leaves Rick with more questions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, a new chapter! Sorry it is so short...but I am so, SO glad to be finished with season one. I am so, SO sorry that there wasn't much Rick and Daryl stuff in it. I planned on things happening in my season two...I just didn't expect it to take so long. Hopefully you guys enjoy this and will stick around for the good stuff. :)
> 
> I'm hoping that things don't seem rushed or pushed. I tried to make the interaction between Rick, Lori, and Shane believable. It is actually based loosely on the rocky ending of my own miserable relationship.
> 
> Also hoping that the whole origin story is good enough. I had a hard time coming up with it. I finagled this part of the episode completely, hopefully well. 
> 
> Chapter title is from the song (and the original title of this fic): Death is Not the End, by: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. One of my favorite lyrics.
> 
> Not beta'd.

Rick could say that it was the best shower he'd ever had, but that would be a lie. The shower that he had at the station tops them all, after he had been cleansed of the dirt and blood. This one, more or less, made him happy for the group. If the way that Morgan and Duane reacted was any indication, warm showers are a luxury. Speaking of Morgan and Duane, he needs to figure out how to contact them in the morning.

 

He's not sure that the radio will have a signal underground. It is something that he can discuss with Jenner, he decides as he exits the room in sweats and an undershirt. He makes a pit-stop by the kitchen to grab more Tru Blood, pleased to see that their mess from dinner has been cleaned up, and then goes on a hunt for their host. On his way back through the hallway where their rooms are, he passes by Dale. Then, as he steps into what Jenner had called the "big room", Daryl nearly runs him over.

 

And keeps on going with a glare over his shoulder.

 

Well.

 

At least he found Jenner.

 

"What was that all about?" he asks the scientist as he approaches.

 

Jenner sits in a computer chair, staring hard at Daryl's retreating form.

 

Did they have an argument?

 

"He's just not liking being down here all that much." Jenner answers, finally acknowledging him, "What can I do for you?"

 

Rick makes himself comfortable in one of those chairs, "I was actually wondering..." he pauses, gathering his thoughts, "I have a friend, back in King County. Him and his boy, he mentioned them making their way to these parts and I told him that I would keep in contact with him through my police radio. But I'm not sure if I can get a signal from down here..."

 

He let's the question linger, confident that Jenner is smart enough to put two and two together.

 

"I'm not opening the security doors upstairs."

 

Rick starts to protest---

 

"But there is a personnel entryway up onto the roof. I would think that you'd be able to contact your friend from up there."

 

The news makes Rick very happy.

 

"I know I can't thank you enough." he says, trying to convey his gratitude through words, "The truth is, I don't know how long they would've survived out there. You took a chance, bringing us in, and in turn you gave us hope. A life."

 

Jenner's laugh is, borderline, a snort, "A life. Running away and hiding isn't a life, trust me."

 

"I do trust you. I believe that you trust me, too, or we wouldn't be here. Now, trust me when I say this: you _saved_ us."

 

Jenner doesn't argue further but he does change the subject.

 

"Speaking of being saved...what's your story? How did you manage to avoid contracting Hep-V?" he asks, shifting in his seat.

 

"I don't know what to tell you. I went into a coma as a human and woke up a few days ago buried in a cellar. I fed on blood stored in the hospital, found my family and everyone else, and wound up here." Rick answers vaguely.

 

Apparently, all of the exciting stuff happened while he was unconscious.

 

What he wouldn't give to know.

 

"That's...interesting. So, you have no idea who your maker is?"

 

"No."

 

"Nobody to confide in, nobody to teach you the tricks of being a vampire?"

 

"No."

 

"That's a shame."

 

Jenner averts his eyes, going over something in his head.

 

"I know the importance of not going out into the sun." Rick jokes, taking a drink of Tru Blood, "And not to trust any of this stuff if I see it laying around."

 

"Be cautious of humans, too. Don't forget that they can carry the virus without symptoms."

 

"Yeah."

 

There is another pause between them, time that Rick takes to finish his drink.

 

He wants to talk about Daryl but Jenner starts another conversation, backtracking to an earlier topic.

 

"I heard that more powerful vampires can fly."

 

"What? Really?" Rick coughs, not expecting the fact and utterly surprised by it.

 

Will he be able to fly, someday?

 

"I don't know, for sure. Just heard it. I saw in the security camera, you've already got the speed down. You'll get faster, stronger. You heal fast, especially with sleep and blood. But my favorite is their glamour."

 

"Glamour?"

 

"It's like hypnosis. Vampires can stare into a human's eyes, make them to anything. Think, mind control."

 

Rick cocks his head, "What made you think that I wouldn't try that to you, once we got in?"

 

"Like you said, I trust you." Jenner says and points to his eyes, "Plus, not long after we discovered that vampires existed, the military came out with contacts that blocked it."

 

Rick starts, "And they weren't released to the public?"

 

"No. It was a, a secret weapon, of sorts. They didn't want it getting out that we had that kind of defense against their most powerful ability." Jenner explains and it actually makes a lot of sense, even if it is completely unfair.

 

Except...

 

"Were there vampires in the military? What did they think?"

 

Jenner shrugs, "I doubt it. For all of their strengths, they've got some major weaknesses."

 

Rick nods, taking the words in. Jenner has been more than helpful with the group, offering them the safety and comfort of his own home. And, just the same, he is giving Rick a much needed lesson in Vampires 101. With all of this new knowledge, he is hoping to better himself and therefor better his ability to keep everyone safe. Which brings up another question...

 

"Why do walkers ignore me?" he inquires with a furrow in his brow.

 

Jenner takes a deep breath, "From what I gather, you are basically one of them. Well, they are one of you. Just mutated. Take a human." at this point, he brings up his hands to gesture while he speaks, "Without Hep-V, they are just a normal human. If changed by a vampire, they become that when they die. If they've got Hep-V when they die, they become your walkers."

 

"But _why_?" Rick stresses, only slightly lost on the actual science of it.

 

At this, Jenner obviously becomes more uncomfortable.

 

He finally relents, "There was a team of scientists who created the Hepatitis-V virus from the Hepatitis-D virus, which is completely harmless to humans but not deadly to vampires. It only weakens them. These scientists created and weaponized the virus before releasing it into the unsuspecting masses. Of course, vampires were the only ones infected until it sent them into a frenzy. They preyed on what they could before the virus killed them. But then the newly-infected humans, those that were murdered and those that succumbed to the infection itself, came back to life. But not as vampires. From there, it spread like wildfire."

 

The pair sit in silence after that and Rick lets the words sink in. Morgan told him that he suspected this entire thing happened because of the release and consumption of tainted Tru Blood and Jenner just confirmed it. Not only that, he revealed that it had all been intentional. It was an attempt at genocide that blew up in their faces. It pretty much did the exact opposite.

 

Speaking of which...

  
"Have you ever heard of humans being...I don't know, _tantalizing_ to a vampire? Abnormally so?"

 

At Rick's question, Jenner stiffens suspiciously in his chair and regards him with a nervous expression.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

Here goes.

 

"Before I found this group, I came across a couple of humans. The man and his son that I told you about. They...well, I was starved but I didn't try anything with them. The father let me feed from him. But that's not really the point. What I'm trying to say is...it's like living off of salad all of my life and then smelling _steak_. A bad comparison, I know, but I met someone who scrambles my senses and it makes me want them. I'm not even sure that they know what they do to me."

 

Rick says it all in one breath and Jenner is silent.

 

He goes on, keeping a close eye on him, "I'm drawn to him. I want to _do things_ to him. I can't get him out of my head."

 

Jenner nods and licks his lips. Rick knows that he knows something, with the way he is acting. Plus, how Daryl was storming out of the room upon his arrival? They must have spoken. What is Daryl hiding?

 

He had been awfully against the blood test. Does he have Hep-V? Is that what he is hiding? Are vampires drawn to infected humans? Could that be why he is so attracted to Daryl?

 

Jenner must sense his apprehension, "N-No, you've got nothing to worry about. Some people are just...special, I guess." he says and it only mildly makes Rick feel better.

 

It still doesn't answer his question about Daryl, though.

 

"Did anyone's blood tests come up...off?" he asks, watching the doctor closely.

 

"No."

 

It's a lie. Jenner has his poker face set firmly in place but Rick sees right through it. He is protecting Daryl's secret and, what's more is, he knows what it is. He can't force the other man to tell him, he will just have to wait and see how it all plays out. If it was dangerous, surely Jenner would say so.

 

Or cast Daryl out.

 

Rick _really_ doesn't like that idea.

 

"Alright, then." he stands and stretches, dropping his empty bottle into a nearby garbage can, "Thanks for letting us in."

 

Jenner visibly relaxes in his chair and he bids Rick a quiet goodnight.

 

Once back out into the hallway, Rick sighs. He was hoping that Jenner would be able to give him some answers concerning his...urges...towards Daryl. Looks like the only way to find out will be his own investigation. Or maybe Daryl will eventually trust him enough to tell him. If he confided in Jenner, asked him to keep a secret, then he must know what is going on.

 

As he walks down the hallway, he hears Shane's voice coming from what Jenner had told them was the rec room. He changes his destination, intent on finding his friend and maybe chatting him up a bit. Maybe he can talk to him about what is going on, get his insight? Maybe even---

 

Rick definitely doesn't expect to enter the room to find his wife kissing his best friend. She is in nothing but a night gown and a pair of panties, visible only due to Shane's creeping hand up her hip. Their kiss is passionate and familiar in a way that tells him it is not their first one and quite possibly, not their last. He must make a sound, for they push apart as if burned and stare at him with wide eyes.

 

They look guilty.

 

 _Scared_.

 

Of him.

 

As if he will _hurt_ them.

 

"Rick, I---"

 

"Brother---"

 

"Stop."

 

Rick interrupts them both and all is quiet.

 

"Is this why you have been so distant from me?"

 

It's the first coherent thought that makes it to his lips.

 

Lori shoots a look to Shane, terrified. The other man meets her eyes, just as speechless. Rick wants everything out into the open, but patiently waits for an answer. He is not angry so much as he is hurt and he hopes that they can tell the difference. So that they won't think they are actually in any danger from him.

 

Lori is still struggling with words when she speaks, "Yes."

 

Rick nods and rubs his temples; he didn't even know that vampires could even get headaches.

 

"This whole time, I thought it was me. I know how much you hates vampires." he says offhandedly, not expecting a response.

 

"I can't..." Lori starts, running a hand through her hair, "Rick, I am _terrified_ of vampires. You know this and I'm not...I'm not putting this on you. We thought you were dead and I was grieving and then all of this happened..."

 

She begins crying, hands shaking as she crosses her arms.

 

Rick lets her continue.

 

"Things happened and I was so _scared_ and _alone_ and he was _there_ for me." she spares another look to Shane and her voice cracks, "I was so scared, Rick. I am so sorry. And then you show up and you're a vampire and I...I don't know what I feel. What I _should_ feel. I had to get you out of my mind and look forward or I wasn't going to make it. I thought you were dead and it _destroyed_ me. Shane didn't just save Carl and I from the chaos. He saved me from myself and told me that Carl couldn't lose his mother, too. And now you're back, and I..."

 

She is babbling, distraught, and Rick wants to reach out and comfort her. One look to Shane, who has been quietly staring at the floor in shame, reveals that his partner is aching to comfort his sobbing lover, too. Rick feels his chest tighten, hating to be the cause of her tears. But he knows, deep down, that he is not the one that she wants to console her.

 

Not anymore.

 

Rick moves, trying to catch Shane's attention. When he finally does, he gestures for the other man to make his move. Shane doesn't at first, probably unsure of himself as well as Rick, so Rick repeats it. The other man swallows, licking his lips, and makes his move. He slowly, carefully as if handling glass, draws Lori into his thick arms, where she proceeds to cry into his chest.

 

Rick suddenly feels like the odd one out, a stranger to his friend and wife. Shane is whispering to her, rocking her and stroking her hair, and Rick tries not to listen. He even turns away to give them privacy, something that sounds ridiculous in his own mind. He really should be angry, or upset, but he really isn't.

 

Did vampirism change him, or is he finally coming to terms that their marriage was rocky, in the end? Was Lori mourning her best friend, the father of her son, rather than her husband? The thoughts and possibilities are endless but there is another, more startling one, that keeps surfacing. Is he so okay with this because of _Daryl_? What's more is...why has he never been drawn to another man, another person, like he is with the hunter?

 

"I'm sorry, Rick."

 

Shane's voice brings him back to the here and now and, really, he doesn't know what to say.

 

"It's all my fault." his friend goes on, shaking his head.

 

Rick has never, ever seen him remorseful.

 

It moves something within him.

 

"Hey." he calls out softly, drawing both of their attentions, "It's okay. It's alright. I understand."

 

If his tone doesn't surprise them, his words certainly do. Lori's beautiful brown eyes are wide, wet and red-rimmed, and Rick feels a weight lift off of his shoulders. Her happiness is important to him, it always has been, and he knows that he has done that right thing. He can't hold it against her, that she moved on, especially considering that she didn't know. Rick gives the couple a small smile.

 

"It's okay." he repeats, "We can talk more tomorrow night. I think I am going to catch up on some sleep."

 

Before he can leave, a small voice stops him.

 

"Thank you, Rick. I'm so sorry."

 

Rick directs his smile to Lori.

 

"You're welcome. Goodnight."

 

He makes his retreat, down the hall and back to his room. Once the door is closed behind him, he navigates his way to the big, comfortable looking bed in the dark. Drawing the blankets back, he relaxes under their weight and thinks about what he will say to Shane and Lori. The hurt he does feel will fade, quickly judging by it's lack of intensity, and they will keep things civil between them. He will just have to get over seeing them together.

 

What are they going to tell Carl? The boy is mature for his age, if a little too independent. If they are upfront with him, things will probably be smooth. He just hopes that he doesn't resent Shane for it. He will tell his son that it is a mutual separation.

 

Everything is going to be okay.

 

That is his final thought before sleep claims him.

 

Until Shane burst through his door several hours later.

 

"Rick! Wake up, we've got to go!"

 

Rick is out of bed and quickly realizes that something is very, very wrong.

 

"What is it? What's going on?"

 

Shane tosses him a duffel, grabbing another, and heading back out of the room when he answers, "The power's shutting down. This place is going to blow."

 

And Rick is right behind him with his meager belongings.

 

" _What_?!" he growls, " _Why_?!"

 

Shane is leading him into the main computer room, where Jenner and Jacqui sit quietly.

 

The scientist gets a dirty look from Shane as he passes but reaches out to grab Rick's hand before he can do so.

 

"Wait."

 

The command is firm, pleading, and the look in his eyes compels Rick to listen to what he has to say.

 

He isn't expecting to be given a vial of blood.

 

But when Jenner tucks the glass into his hand, he pulls the vampire in close to whisper into his ear.

 

"Drink this before you go into the sun, it will help." he says, sending a look passed Shane to the door where the rest of the group has gone.

 

Jenner then stares intensely into Rick's eyes, his next words sparking a myriad of other thoughts and emotions with their meaning.

 

"He's not human."

 

Rick cocks his head, stunned.

 

Jenner gives him a stiff nod before letting him go and Shane urges him away.

 

"Wait! What about Jacqui?!"

 

"She made her choice." Shane snarls, entering the elevator behind everyone else with Rick in tow.

 

Before the doors close, Jacqui smiles softly and gives a small, final wave. The elevator moves, ascending with the ragtag group of survivors who reek of pain, fear, and loss. Jenner's words are on repeat in Rick's mind and he doesn't even second guess it as he uncaps the vial and sucks it's contents down with one gulp. The taste that hits his tongue is unlike anything he has ever had, obviously blood but with _something else_. It's amazing and, by God, he wants _more_.

 

The elevator dings when it arrives at the first floor and the group can't get out fast enough, scrambling over one another towards the nearest way out: the window. The sun is high in the sky, it's beams casting yellow light along the floor like pillars of hellfire. It is warm against Rick's skin but not _burning_ like it did yesterday. Is this because of the blood? _Daryl's_ blood?

 

_"He's not human."_

 

A pale fist slams into the glass with Rick's weight behind it and he is dismayed to find that it id nothing to it's surface.

 

Not even a crack.

 

"No!" he screams, trying again.

 

The glass shudders with the impact and he pulls back to do it again.

 

The window shatters into thousands of pieces, not a single shard left behind. Except he hadn't hit it that time. The group wastes no time to escape, climbing through the opening and out into the city. Rick watches them go, trailing his eyes to the back just in time to see Daryl lowering his hand.

 

_"He's not human."_

 

Rick climbs through the window with Daryl right behind him and they manage to dodge behind a blockade just as the ground shudders beneath them and the CDC is engulfed in flames. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rick is too nice, just like I was. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think or if you have any questions.

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme know what you guys think! :D Commends, kudos, bookmarks, and overall love is always welcome.


End file.
